


Black Me Out

by JBankai89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, EWE, FTM Harry, Hate Crime, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild OoC, PostWar, References to Mpreg, Romance, Trans!Harry, Transphobia, ron & seamus bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Since his first day at Hogwarts, Harry has had a secret. Not even his best friends knew, and returning after the war for his seventh year, Harry is looking forward to a nice, quiet, Voldemort-free year. What he hadn't expected was Ron and Seamus discovering his secret and reacting violently to the news, nor did he expect his old school rival suddenly showing romantic interest in him.





	1. True Trans Soul Rebel

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I didn't change much of the canon for this fic: Everything is the same, except Harry never went to the Dursleys' and was raised by Sirius, who isn't dead and didn't go to Azkaban. Also, Harry didn't date Ginny or Cho in this one. Comments and Kudos are appreciated. The reference material I used for this fic was...well, me. My experiences, my feelings about being trans, albeit exaggerated or adjusted accordingly. (Sexual stuff will be referenced in this fic, but no straight-up smut. Describing sexual content in this context makes me dysphoric like crazy, so I'd rather not trigger myself for the sake of fanfiction.)

Black Me Out

 

Chapter One – True Trans Soul Rebel

 

Harry was so used to the taste of his own blood it no longer came as a shock to him. He choked on it, and relished in the reactions of disgust from his so-called friends when he spat it at them. Bloody mouthfuls clung onto their school robes, and with a cry of disgust they threw him down into the bite of the snow-covered ground. Calls of, “Freak!” echoed back to him while he struggled to find his equilibrium.

Harry reached up and his fingertips gripped at the redbrick of the building next to him as he pulled himself up onto shaking legs. He needed to get back to the school; Madam Pomfrey would put him right. The only challenge now was getting there without passing out. His vision was hazy, his glasses were shattered and dangling precariously off his face, and his split lower lip was dribbling a steady stream of blood down his chin and onto the front of his jumper. The red blended in perfectly with the Gryffindor colours. Harry hobbled forward, grimacing as he attempted to put weight on his sprained ankle, and he felt dizzy from the intense pain, and his anger threatened to overwhelm him. He'd get Ron and Seamus for this. He _wasn't_ a freak.

He transfigured a stone on the ground into a walking stick, and Harry used it to aid in his trek back up to the castle. His mind so focused on vengeance that it did not immediately register that a particular blond classmate was approaching him.

“Potter?” The usual sneer was missing, and at first Harry almost didn't recognize the voice. He bit back a groan when he realized who it was. Perfect, just what he needed right now was Malfoy to harass him on top of everything else.

“Shove off Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, “I'm afraid Ron and Seamus beat you to it.” Harry turned and tried to pick up his pace, but it was too much for his ankle, and he bit back a gasp of pain. The last thing he wanted was to show weakness in front of the Slytherin git.

“ _Weasley_ did this to you? What'd you do, make a pass at his mudblood?” Harry gritted his teeth and shot Malfoy another glare.

“Hermione is more magic than you'll ever be. Fuck off,” Harry growled, too exhausted to defend Hermione's honour properly with a well-placed curse at the moment, but he made a mental note to inversify Malfoy when he had full use of his legs again.

“No, seriously, I want to know. What would prompt Weasley to bloody up his bosom friend?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I dunno. I'm curious, I'm bored,” he said in his familiar drawl as he fell in step next to Harry. The lack of bite in his tone made Harry immediately suspicious.

“Not a lot to do when your friends are all in Azkaban, I expect,” Harry snapped, _really_ not wanting to accept help from a Slytherin, and especially not Draco effing Malfoy. At his words, the blond froze.

“That was low, Potter,” he growled as he shot Harry a familiar, cold glare, and stalked off.

Harry sighed with relief, and made the rest of the journey back to the castle in peace.

  

~*~

 

“Harry would you _please_ stop being ridiculous and tell me who did this to you?” Madam Pomfrey fussed, flicking her wand here and there as she attended to his multiple injuries, thankfully without the need to remove his clothes. “I'll need to contact your guardian, at any rate. He'll need to know what's happened.”

“ _No,_ ” Harry said at once, his eyes widening at the prospect. “Please, don't tell Sirius. He'll lose his bloody mind, and I won't let them chase me away.” Harry crossed his arms, and as she flicked her wand at his ankle, he yelped in pain.

“Watch your mouth young man,” she said with a frown, but Harry kept his mouth shut. She huffed at him, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Fine, keep your secrets. But if you exact revenge on them of your own volition, you'll be in just as much trouble, you realize,” she said while Harry glared at the white tiled floor.

“I don't know how they found out,” he muttered, feeling his anguish swell in his chest, and for a moment he felt as though his lungs had closed up. He took several deep breaths, but the panic did not abate. “And they...I thought they'd be okay with it. The wizarding world is so open about—about other things...”

“Yes well, even among wizards this is still a learning curve. The people who did this to you _deserve_ to be punished, but that does not mean _you_ have to be the one to dole it out. They can hurt just as much if you were to hand them over to the Aurors.” At her words, Harry blinked in confusion, and looked back up to the matron.

“Aurors?”

“Oh, yes,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “this was a hate crime, Mr Potter. There is no reason why you can't seek justice. I'm sure it would be possible for you to have these people tried in secret to save yourself any...unpleasantness.”

“I'll think about it,” he said as he offered her a small smile and slid off the cot, wincing as he put weight on his ankle.

“That ankle of yours was dislocated, not sprained, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said, “It will still be tender for some time. Be careful.” She turned back to a table next to the cot and picked up a vial of viscous, yellow potion, which she handed to him. “Your doses for the month.”

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,” he muttered, stowing the vial in his jeans pocket. He could feel her disapproving stare follow him front the Hospital Wing, but he feigned ignorance as he limped into the hall.

Harry moved to head back to Gryffindor Tower slowly, but stopped short when a sudden realization hit him. Ron would likely be there by now, along with Seamus. He knew that they would be unable to spread the gossip of their discovery, thanks to the tongue-tying curse Sirius had set up when he'd first started school, but it didn't stop _them_ from knowing it. His stomach roiled at the idea of facing Ron or Seamus again. Flicking his hands in an attempt to rid himself of the shakes, he walked stiffly out onto the grounds. He needed to think.

“Up and about then, Potter?” Harry groaned. _Lovely,_ he thought, _Just what I need._

“What part of _piss off_ are you not getting, Malfoy?” Harry snapped as he jogged to catch up with Harry. He scowled as Malfoy fell in step with him as they crossed the grounds.

“The part where I actually piss off. Someone needs to keep the lollygagging gingers from cursing you when your back is turned.”

“I don't need a fucking bodyguard,” Harry seethed, gritting his teeth as he walked stiffly toward the icy lake, and fell into a sitting position with a hiss by the lakeside.

“Past results suggest you do,” Malfoy said with a smirk while he flicked his wand at the ground next to Harry, warming and drying the grass of snow before he sat next to him. “But seriously—what happened?” Harry bit back a groan. Couldn't the git take a bloody _hint_?

“I don't want to talk about it. Why do you care?”

“Why would I not?”

“Because we've spent the past eight years at each other's throats, for one.” Harry cocked a brow at him, and Malfoy shrugged, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Past is past, Potter,” Malfoy said as he stretched out luxuriously next to him, folding his arms under his head and staring up at the sky, as at ease as though it was a warm summer day. Harry gave.

“Let's just say...they found out something about my past...before Hogwarts, I mean. They didn't approve.”

“Strange that a half-blood and a blood traitor would disapprove of their golden boy.”

“You're telling me,” Harry flicked his wand, casting a few warming charms around them. He didn't want to go back to the tower if he could help it. This strangely amicable Draco Malfoy was still better than dealing with Ron and Seamus. At least with Malfoy it seemed that at least, for now, he'd be able to keep all his teeth.

“What was this big secret?” He asked in a tone that was clearly aiming for casual, but the tendril of burning curiosity in his voice was hard to miss. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration and shook his head.

“None of your business,” Harry muttered, stuffing a hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the glass vial. Its presence was calming.

“ _That's_ mature,” Malfoy said as he continued to smirk, “how am I supposed to be an understanding friend if you don't confide in me?”

“Considering we're _not_ friends, I don't see much reason to confide anything in you, Malfoy,” Harry grumbled as he whipped around and frowned down at him. “Seriously...why do you care?”

Malfoy sat up slowly, his movements slow and almost snakelike. A slow smirk spread over his face again. He was too close to him, Harry realized, when suddenly his lips were on Harry's, and his eyes widened with shock. It was over in a second, so quickly that he hadn't time to react to the sudden gesture.

“Let's just say...I have my reasons,” Malfoy purred the words, then stood and strode off.

Harry slumped back against the snow. His trousers were getting wet.

  

~*~

 

Harry wished he had it in him to feel some sense of shock when he reached his dormitory, only to find his belongings utterly destroyed. Sirius's two-way mirror was smashed and ground into a glittering powder on his bedspread, his muggle clothes were shredded, and his textbooks had been burned to a cinder. Harry heaved a heavy sigh, and he felt another tremor course through him. He would not fall apart. He _could not_ fall apart. Harry wouldn't let Ron not Seamus know how much they were getting to him.

Harry bent down and crawled partway under the bed. They hadn't managed to break his secretive charms, and he pulled out his wooden shoebox of treasures: The photo album from Hagrid, its empty pages filled with photographs of himself and Sirius, as well as dozens of photos of his godson. The Marauder's Map and his invisibility cloak were in tact and undamaged as well, and he felt relief wash over him at the sight of it. He threw it over himself, not before casting some fairly nasty curses on Ron and Seamus's areas of the space. Harry laughed softly, but did not stay to see what would happen, and instead he gathered up the box to his chest, swept out of the dormitory, and headed down to the common room.

Harry did not pay attention to anyone, relieved for his invisibility, and he hurried out into the quiet of the castle. He wanted to go and ask Madam Pomfrey for a private bed and a sleeping draught, but first he needed to take care of this like a proper adult. If they were doing this, he knew enough about harassment to know that it would only escalate, not stop.

“Feles,” Harry mumbled at the gargoyle. It jumped aside to admit Harry, and he drew off the cloak as he stepped onto the moving staircase.

Professor McGonagall was still in her day robes when she answered his knock. Her irritation shifted to surprise when she saw his expression. “Mr Potter, to what do I owe the late visit?”

“I, er, needed to speak to you about...something.” He frowned, while her mouth set into a thin line. She stepped aside to admit him. Harry moved to the hardbacked chair that sat before her desk, and he glanced up to the sleeping headmasters, his gaze pausing momentarily on Dumbledore, then Snape. His heart momentarily jumped into his throat, but he shook his head, struggling to stay focused on his current predicament; he couldn't afford to lose himself in the past.

“I assume this is about your altercation in Hogsmeade earlier today. Am I wrong?”

“I—how did you know about that?” He asked as he felt the anxious shakes return. Harry tensed his muscles, trying to stave off the trembling.

“Poppy brought it to my attention,” she said tersely, clearly disapproving with his reluctance to come to her directly, “I have not informed your godfather, but I was hoping we could deal with this before it escalates.”

“A little late for that,” Harry muttered, looking down at his hands. “They destroyed all my things.” Harry cursed inwardly at the tremor in his voice. “My textbooks, my clothes, my—the mirror Sirius gave me...all of it, gone.” Harry glanced back up, and he watched her mouth go thinner than he could ever recall seeing it.

“I take it then we are dealing with assailants from Gryffindor?” She asked, and Harry nodded silently. “I know you were reluctant to tell Poppy who caused this, but I am hoping you will be a little more forthright with me, Potter. What these people are putting you through is unacceptable behaviour for a Hogwarts student to display. Their actions are enough for expulsion, and perhaps criminal proceedings if you wish to alert the Aurors to your...situation.” Harry grimaced at the suggestion; _Fat chance._

“It was...Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan. I—I don't know how they found out, but they cornered me in Hogsmeade and then I came back and...when I got back to the tower later, all my things were destroyed.” His voice broke, and he took several shaking breaths in an attempt to calm himself, though it did little to help. “They called me a freak. I'm not a freak. _I'm not_.” Harry clenched his hands into fists, and looked away from McGonagall's gobsmacked expression. Whomever she had expected to be at the root of the problem, clearly she hadn't anticipated eighth year students.

She flicked her wand once, and a roving, but practical platter lowered itself onto her desk. She picked up one of the mugs of a steaming red liquid, and pressed it into his hands. “Drink this Potter, it will help you calm down. Please excuse me for a moment. _Do not move_. I will return shortly.” Harry looked down dubiously at the drink. He sniffed it experimentally. It smelled sweet. She huffed at him. “It's a herbal tea blend, you silly young man. It will help calm your anxiety. Now, _stay_. I mean it.” She stood and flicked her wand at him, and he felt something cold wash over him. She had swept from the room before Harry realized that she had cast a particularly powerful Disillusionment charm on him.

Where Harry would have taken the chance to poke around the office back when Dumbledore had occupied the circular Headmaster's office, Harry didn't dare try his luck with McGonagall. Even though he was the affected party, he had a feeling she'd have no qualms about docking points if he tried to push his luck.

He sipped the tea, and was surprised to find how much he liked it. He could taste lavender and chamomile, but he could not identify all of the ingredients. He cast a quick glance to the dozing portrait directly behind McGonagall's desk. Surely Snape would have been able to label all the ingredients in this tea in less than thirty seconds. He shivered, remembering that awful night. He turned away from the portrait, quietly sipping his tea while he waited for her to return.

Harry did not have to wait long before he heard a commotion thundering up the spiral staircase. He felt what colour had returned to his face leave it when he recognized the voices that accompanied the Headmistress.

“Ow, ow, Miss! We didn't do nothing! _It_ started it!”

“Never, in all my years...” The door burst open, and Professor McGonagall stepped back into her office, holding both his assailants by the ear. Harry lurched back instinctively, before he remembered that they lightly couldn't see him, but at the same time he felt a tendril of amusement rush through him. Based on the way the two boys were hopping from foot to foot, his little parasitic friends had found a new home.

“How _dare_ you attack another student unprovoked!” She shrieked, “I am absolutely _disgusted!_ And against not only your peer, but a friend, at that!” Harry's hands tightened around the mug while both boys' expressions darkened. “You could have done Mr Potter serious physical damage, and destroying his property had earned you both an early trip back to London.” Both young men had been so busy glaring at their shoes that her sudden proclamation caused them both to whip their gazes back to her.

“What're you talking about Miss?” Ron asked, his voice panicked.

“Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, you are hereby _expelled_. Effective immediately. I expect you back here in twenty minutes with your belongings. I shall alert both of your families by Floo, and you will be sent home _tonight,_ ” she said in a firm, infuriated voice. Harry turned away, pretending that he was alone in the office and not witnessing the uncomfortable scene. Both boys turned and stomped out of the office, heads bowed.

“Was it really necessary for me to be here for that, Professor?” Harry mumbled, staring down sullenly at his knees. All he could think was how the two would likely know who had told the Headmistress, and now they had more than enough reason to track Harry down and attack him again. McGonagall did not immediately answer him, instead she circled the desk, removed the charm from his person, and picked up a large quill. She pushed a blank piece of parchment towards him, and a second quill.

“Make a detailed list of your destroyed belongings, Mr Potter. The school will pay for their replacement. For tonight you are to use the Gryffindor Head Boy quarters, and you are excused from your lessons tomorrow while we sort this out.” She observed him from over the top of her spectacles with a look not unlike sympathy. He glanced away, a flush of shame creeping up his neck. He knew that he really should rest, he was sore and exhausted, but he hated that taking a day off his lessons felt very much like he was letting them win.

“I—I think I'll go to bed, then,” Harry said, no longer wanting to think on everything that had happened, “I'll have this list for you, er—soon.” He did not know how he felt about the school replacing his belongings, but if anything, at least they weren't blaming _him_ for any of it.

“Then sleep well, Mr Potter,” she said in a much gentler tone than he was used to hearing from her. Harry offered her a jerky nod, set down the barely-touched teacup on her desk. grabbed his cloak, and hurried out the door.

Harry was halfway to Gryffindor Tower before it occurred to him that it was likely that Ron and Seamus would use the same route to return to McGonagall's office. He pulled the cloak on, and not a moment too soon, as Ron and Seamus whipped around the corner, their trunks in tow. They were in deep conversation, and it seemed that they had not noticed Harry's form disappearing from the passageway.

“We'll get _it_ for this,” Ron sneered, his trunk scraping noisily against the stone, “we were doing our civic duty, keeping something like _that_ as far from Gryffindor as possible...”

Ron's sneering voice faded as Harry rushed past them, feeling sick to his stomach.

  

~*~

 

Harry spent the morning hiding in the private quarters, unused as this year's Head Boy had been a Ravenclaw. He sat by the windowsill and watched the grounds, his gaze falling on Hagrid standing next to a manticore with his students a good fifty feet away. The detailed list of his destroyed belongings had been sent ahead to McGonagall, and with no clean robes to change into, he had sequestered himself away.

It seemed that McGonagall had guessed that he might do such a thing, and he had awoken that morning to a platter of toast with butter and marmalade, eggs, bacon, and pumpkin juice waiting for him. He grazed on the food, his stomach still a knot of anxiety.

By midday, all of Harry's things had been replaced. They popped into existence in neat piles next to the bed. He grabbed his black chest binder and pulled it on, wincing as he adjusted his chest under the tight garment, and shrugged into clean robes before he headed out to the Great Hall for lunch.

Before he had even made it halfway to his destination, he caught snatches of conversation from passing couples and groups, all discussing Ron and Seamus's mysterious expulsion.

“...McGonagall just burst into Gryffindor Tower and dragged them out...”

“... _I_ heard they attacked Potter...”

“...Potter's ego is getting too big for his head, if you ask me. Probably made the whole thing up...”

Feeling rather sick, Harry rushed towards the courtyard while he attempted to maintain an air of calm.

 

Harry felt better as soon as he was out in the open, and the cool breeze felt wonderful against his hot skin. He pressed his forehead against the cool stone of the castle's wall, breathing slowly as he tried to ride out the panic attack.

“Potter,” Harry bit back a groan at the sound of the drawling voice and turned to Malfoy. He was standing next to Harry, looking rather pleased with himself, and holding something wrapped rather badly in a cloth napkin. Remembering their encounter from yesterday, he felt himself go a little red. With everything that had happened following it, he hadn't had time to process it.

“I saw you bolt from the Entrance Hall,” he continued, apparently ignorant to Harry's frustration and embarrassment at his presence, “thought you might want this,” He said as he pressed the napkin-wrapped package into Harry's hands. Harry unwrapped it, both curious and apprehensive, only to find that it was...sandwiches.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked as he set aside the food, grateful, though he was still too anxious to eat.

“I thought by our...encounter yesterday that that was fairly obvious,” He said with a smirk, and moved in as though to embrace Harry, but he lurched back instinctively.

“Don't—don't touch me,” Harry said in a rush, wincing at how frightened he sounded. Ron and Seamus were bad enough, if Malfoy figured it out...Harry felt himself trembling, and gritted his teeth in frustration. He'd seen horrors no one his age could even fathom in their worst nightmares, and now he was afraid of _touch_?

Before Malfoy had a chance to react, Harry hurried away. 

 

~*~

 

Returning to his lessons the following day was more nerve-wracking than Harry had expected. Hermione seemed to be struggling with her grief at Ron's unceremonious departure and feelings of betrayal that Harry had been the cause. The fact that no one knew _why_ they had been expelled seemed to nettle her, and she spent an inordinate amount of time pestering him.

“Harry, Ron's my—I mean, he was your best friend! You owe it to me to tell me what happened!” She said as she followed him through the Entrance Hall like a particularly talkative shadow.

“I don't owe _anyone_ explanations, Hermione. I don't want to discuss it, now give it a rest,” He spoke firmly and evenly, and Harry was rather proud that he managed to keep himself from shouting. She stared at him following his statement, and her eyes filled with tears. She stalked off, her shoulders sagging sadly.

“Trouble in paradise, Potter?” Harry spun on his heel and found himself face-to-face with Malfoy. _Again_.

“Malfoy, lovely. Now just force-feed me rat poison and this will go down as my Best Day Ever,” He grumbled as he glared at the Slytherin. He moved to brush past him and head towards the doors to the grounds, his argument with Hermione effectively robbing him of his appetite. Malfoy caught his wrist in his hand as he passed, and Harry tensed, turning to glare at him.

“Let me go,” Harry said, uncomfortably aware how Malfoy's hand easily enclosed his entire wrist, the edge of his thumb crossing over the tips his middle and ring fingers easily.

“Let me help, Harry,” Malfoy said in a earnest tone of voice. Harry stared. He could not remember Malfoy _ever_ calling him by his first name. Harry yanked his hand out of Malfoy's grip, his heart thundering in his chest.

“I do not want, nor do I need, your _help_. Leave. Me. Alone.” Harry did not wait for Malfoy to respond, and broke into a run as he headed straight for the doors.

Outside, Harry once again felt that freeing sensation of being out in the open. It was mid-March, and the snow that had adorned the ground for the better part of the week was gone, and had given way to unseasonably warm weather and a cloudless, sunny sky. He slowed to a walk and made his way towards the lake.

Everyone wanted to _help_. Everyone wanted to know what was wrong, what they could do for him.

What he needed, more than anything, was to be left alone. If he did not associate with people, he didn't need to worry about more people he cared for turning on him as Ron had. He crossed his arms across his chest, grimaced with pain, and allowed his arms to fall to his sides. His chest ached painfully, and he wondered not for the first time if maybe he should have used the muggle method for his chest reconstruction instead of the wizarding one. It took far less time, and there was always essence of dittany to speed up the healing process and get rid of the scars. This was taking far too long.

Harry tossed down his cloak and fell down on top of it, stretching out on his back as he stared up at the forget-me-not blue sky. A swift fluttered by, and Harry watched it until it disappeared from his field of vision into the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Harry had had no idea how difficult life would continue to be for him following Voldemort's downfall, though in retrospect he thought that he should have known better than to be so stupidly optimistic. He felt a low ache in his gut. _How_ did Ron find out?

The nausea he associated with his anxiety set in almost at once, and Harry took several deep breaths in an attempt to banish the sensation. He started slightly when a little black owl fluttered out of the forest and fluttered down to land on his knee. Harry sat up and stared at it in surprise for a moment, then noticed a small scroll tied to its leg. Harry dug in his pockets, but he had nothing to give the owl in return. He untied the scroll, offered his apologies to the creature, who puffed up with anger and took off.

Shaking his head at the hypersensitive owl, he unrolled the letter to find it was from Sirius.

 

_Harry,_

 

_Professor McGonagall wrote to me about what happened. I want to see you so that we can discuss it, but my presence at the school may raise more questions than it would answer. Do you want to meet at the Hogwarts gates this Saturday and I'll take you to the Three Broomsticks for lunch so we can talk?_

 

_Let me know,_

_Sirius_

 

Harry groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he burned the note to cinders with his wand. He had always appreciated Sirius being so good to him, but his overprotectiveness following Voldemort's downfall last spring was maddening. He was _eighteen_ , not eight.

He knew Sirius would want to discuss the attack, and how his treatment was progressing, but the bigger problem, at least in Harry's mind, was Draco Malfoy's persistence. Dating was hard enough, but Harry's situation was complicated enough without adding extra fuel to the fire. He was certain the _Prophet_ would _love_ to run a story about how the Saviour of the Wizarding World was dating a former Death Eater's son.

Knowing that Sirius's request, while formed as an invitation was not elective, he stood up reluctantly and headed back to the castle to write him back.

  

~*~

 

“Harry,” Sirius pulled him in for a one-armed hug, and patted his back once before releasing him. “All right?”

“Fine,” Harry's mouth twitched into a weak half-smile.

“Let's go, we can talk when we've got some food in us,” Sirius said as he clapped Harry on the shoulder and steered him away from the school and towards Hogsmeade.

They walked in companionable silence, Sirius keeping it from getting too quiet by occasionally asking questions that led to light conversation, and Harry offered up weak, one-word answers.

Harry saw very little of the pub before he was ushered by both Sirius and Madam Rosmerta into a private room. “Butterbeer and some steak and kidney pie, I think. Does that work for you, Harry?”

“What?” Harry said as he looked up from the tabletop, realizing too late he had been spacing out again. What Sirius had asked clicked in his brain, and he nodded once. “er, yeah. That's fine.”

Madam Rosmerta offered him a small smile, which he returned though he wasn't certain how genuine it looked. She bustled out to the main area of the pub, and Harry heaved a sigh. Sirius dove into the reason they'd come out to Hogsmeade without preamble.

“So Harry, tell me—what happened?” Sirius said and Harry looked up at his godfather with a small frown. Sirius was regarding him with a mixed look of worry and anger in his grey eyes. He knew the anger wasn't directed at him, but it was still unnerving to see.

“I don't know how, but Ron and Seamus found out about...me,” Harry mumbled, grimacing as he refocused his attention on the tabletop. “They ambushed me outside of Zonko's and beat me bloody.” Harry winced at the memory as he continued. “I spit a mouthful of blood at them and they took off like I—like it was contagious or something. I was in a bad way, and I transfigured myself a walking stick and headed back to the castle, and Madam Pomfrey put me right.” Harry paused, their food materializing before them, and Harry jabbed his fork into the pastry, releasing a torrent of steam from the centre of it. “But something weird happened.”

“Weird in what way?”

“Malfoy,” Harry paused, his godfather's expression darkening at the name, and Harry quickly elaborated before he got the wrong idea. “He was _nice_ to me. Like—he walked with me part of the way back to the castle and keeps trying to talk to me and, er—other um, stuff.” Harry felt himself go a little red under Sirius's critical eye.

“Are you trying to say that Malfoy is interested in you, romantically?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek and nodded mutely. Sirius frowned, but he didn't appear as disgusted by the idea as Harry thought he would be.

“We'll deal with that in a moment, Harry. Professor McGonagall also said Ron and Seamus damaged your property, is that true?” Harry felt his gut clench at the question.

“More like destroyed it. They didn't get to the map, the cloak, or my album, but all my other stuff—my clothes were shredded, they burned my books, and the mirror you gave me...they shattered it.” Harry breathed a heavy sigh, bowing his head forward as he raked his fingers through his hair. He felt the distinctive clenching of his throat and burning in his eyes, but he couldn't cry over this—he _wouldn't_.

“After that, I went to see the Headmistress, and she expelled both of them right in front of me.” Harry felt a shiver run through him. “They'll know it was me who told on them,” Harry said shakily as he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, but it didn't help nearly as much as he'd hoped. “What if they come looking for payback?”

“It's highly unlikely they'll do that, Ron in particular,” Sirius said evenly, but Harry found his reassurance hard to believe.

“What makes you so sure? They weren't bothered about beating me half to death in Hogsmeade,” Harry muttered the latter half of his sentiment, prodding at the food before him, his appetite utterly gone.

“Well, first and foremost because Minerva will have informed Molly and Mrs Finnegan exactly _why_ they have been expelled—certain private details omitted, of course. If Molly doesn't tear Ron to pieces over this, I will be genuinely surprised.”

“Small comfort,” Harry muttered, still keeping his eyes fixed on his uneaten food. “I don't even know what to say to Hermione, she's really upset because no one will tell her anything about why her boyfriend's suddenly been expelled.”

“Have you considered telling her the truth?”

“After how Ron reacted? Are you completely mad?” Harry's gaze whipped up to lock eyes with his godfather, and the older man shrugged.

“It's been said. Hermione's a smart girl, Harry, and she's _not_ Ron. I can't see her reacting badly to this, beyond maybe being annoyed that you didn't tell her sooner,” Sirius said, frowning a little as he crossed his arms while he regarded his godson. “Think on it. You don't have to, but telling her the truth will likely save your friendship from completely dissolving. Now as for Malfoy...Has he done anything erm, untoward?”

“Yes,” Harry deadpanned. Sirius's eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into the long hair that had fallen into his face.

“Do I need to do something rash, like murder the little ferret on your behalf?” His godfather's voice wavered again between anger and worry, though Harry couldn't tell what was the dominant emotion in that moment.

“Not yet,” Harry replied, looking down at his stone-cold food as he shifted uncomfortably. “I just...I don't get it. Malfoy lost _everything_ after the war. His father's in Azkaban, most of his family fortune was confiscated by the Ministry, his mum buggered off to the colonies...is he just trying to get his hands on...I mean, I don't know if he's interested in me, or my Potter inheritance. I mean, thanks to Rita Skeeter it's not exactly a secret anymore that I'm pretty well off,” Harry said with a mild grimace, remembering the sickly article that followed the war that contained every dirty detail of his life—save one.

“Considering it's a Malfoy, it would be fair to assume the latter.”

“God knows what'll happen if he finds out about me,” Harry mumbled, raking his fingers through his hair.

“That's entirely up to you Harry,” Sirius said gently, “attitudes are changing, and not everyone feels the way Ron does. But...” Sirius smirked a little, and Harry's brown furrowed in confusion at the knowing look in his eyes. “It almost sound as though you like him.”

“I do _not_ like Draco Malfoy!” Harry said hotly, which caused Sirius to bark a laugh. “I _don't_!” Harry said again, which only made Sirius laugh again, “It's just that...Sirius, stop laughing, it isn't funny!”

Slowly, Sirius sobered up, and still chortling he sipped his butterbeer. Harry still felt uncomfortably warm, and sulking a little he stabbed at a chunk of meat and pastry and crammed it into his mouth.

“It's all right to like Malfoy, Harry,” Sirius said gently, but held up his hand to silence Harry's indignant sputtering so that he could continue. “He's a git, he's from a foul family, and he's been actually horrid to you and your friends ever since your first year.”

“Then how is this anywhere in the realm of okay? He's an arse, he always has been, he probably is just hoping that he'll marry into my money or something.”

“It's not unlikely,” Sirius said with a nod, “but what will you do if his advances are genuine?”

“Run away screaming?” Harry asked, and Sirius snorted.

“That's not very Gryffindor of you,” Sirius remarked with an arched brow.

“I can face down Dark Lords and giant spiders and Dementors,” Harry said, still flushed with embarrassment, “but give me romance stuff, and I'm already tearing cheek in the opposite direction.” Harry smiled sheepishly as Sirius laughed again, and he reached across the table to clap Harry on the shoulder.

“You are _definitely_ a boy.”


	2. Because of the Shame

Chapter Two – Because of the Shame

 

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon with Sirius, which, after he'd finally stopped teasing Harry about being in love with Draco Malfoy, he shifted tacks and began to encourage him to come out to Hermione.

“After how Ron reacted?” Harry asked incredulously, “no way.”

“Hermione isn't Ron,” Sirius said patiently. “And she deserves an explanation as to why Ron was expelled. I really don't think you need to worry about her freaking out about this.”

“I'm not, or at least, not completely,” he muttered, fingering the lip of his tankard, “I'm more worried she's gonna throw a torrent of questions at me that I don't want to answer.”

“You know you can tell her what you're comfortable and not comfortable discussing,” Sirius said in the same infuriatingly calm, patient very un-Sirius tone of voice. “We've talked with your Mind Healer about dealing with your dysphoria in a healthy manner, instead of bottling it up and disassociating. You know that Harry.”

“I know,” he replied with a huff and thought, _easier said than done_ , but when he looked back up, Sirius was still staring him down.

“I mean it Harry, you have a bad relationship with your body. It's understandable, but the process is slow, and you'll never have the same exact body type as a cisgendered male. You need to work on accepting that, and maybe talking to Hermione and dating Draco Malfoy would help with that,” he said, pointedly ignoring Harry's red-faced sputters of negation. _Why is Sirius being so_ calm _about this?_ Harry wondered, _I thought he'd be furious that a Malfoy was hitting on me._

At the end of the afternoon, Sirius bid him goodbye at the Hogwarts gates with a quick, one-armed hug. Harry moved to head back up to the castle, but Sirius's hand on his arm stopped him short.

“I mean it Harry,” said Sirius seriously, “you should tell Hermione. You owe her that much.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to nod. He wanted to say that he didn't owe Hermione anything, but he knew that that wasn't entirely true. She deserved some kind of closure over what happened with Ron. Sirius squeezed his shoulder once before he turned away, headed back down the path, and beyond the Anti-Apparition wards.

Harry watched Sirius until he Disapparated, then with a defeated sigh he turned and headed back to the castle while he tried to figure out how to explain himself to his remaining best friend.

Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten very far before a voice he _really_ didn't want to hear called out to him.

“Hey, Potter!” Malfoy called, and Harry groaned.

Malfoy caught up to him, his fair cheeks slightly flushed, and a mischievous glint in his eye. Harry curled his hands into fists to resist the urge to go for his wand.

“What part of _leave me alone_ is not penetrating that thick skull of yours, Malfoy?” Harry growled, “I'm not interested, now piss off.”

“Come on Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice softening a little as he reached to touch Harry's arm, but he jerked out of reach. Malfoy curled his hand into a fist and let it drop to his side as he continued. “Don't be like that, I fancy you, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” Harry deadpanned. Malfoy sputtered, and Harry watched him grasp at straws for several long moments before he seemed to find his voice again.

“Well, I do. What would convince you that I don't have any malicious ulterior motives this time?”

“Veritaserum, Legilimency, nothing big,” Harry said sarcastically, “look Malfoy, I don't know what you're up to, but just leave me alone, all right? I've got enough going on without you pestering me as well.”

“And I want to help! Share the burden, or load, or however you call it.”

“You're an _only_ child. What the hell do you know about _sharing_?” Harry demanded, while he began to inch up the path that led to the castle, intent on getting back now more than ever. Harry was beginning to find this new version of Malfoy even more irritating than the old prejudiced, racist, and antagonistic pain in the arse he'd been before.

“Bit of pot calling kettle black, don't you think?” Malfoy asked with a familiar self-satisfied smirk. Harry scowled at him and turned away without answering.

“Harry,” the sound of his first name coming from Malfoy, paired with the softness of the tone, and the hand that grabbed his caused him to freeze. Harry turned slowly, eyes wide with shock at what he was seeing.

The usually haughty, arrogant expression was gone, and in its place was a soft, almost tender look. Harry swallowed nervously, and he suddenly realized that Malfoy was going in for another kiss. Harry wrenched his hand out of the other boy's grip as though he'd been burned, and did not stop to even feel remotely guilty about the hurt look that crossed Malfoy's aristocratic features as Harry turned and bolted for the castle.

 

~*~

  

Too shaken up by Malfoy's pseudo-assault, Harry had effectively lost the nerve to talk to Hermione that evening. Avoiding the common room entirely, Harry holed up in the Head Boy room he'd been given, and alternated between trying to do his schoolwork and trying to come up with a way to talk to Hermione that wouldn't make her hate him.

“This is hopeless,” he said with a groan as he folded his arms on the desk and buried his face in them. Sure, Hermione was the smartest and cleverest witch of her age, but that didn't mean she'd be completely okay with what Harry had to tell her.

He was grateful when ten o'clock rolled around, giving him an excuse to head to bed. He stripped off his clothing, stopping short at the restrictive undershirt that was keeping his chest flat. He stood before the long mirror, unable to hide a small smile as his fingers trailed over the coarse, wiry body hair that adorned his stomach. In the privacy of his own room, without fear of someone catching him, he allowed himself a moment of glee, to marvel at the physical changes he'd been gifted with over the last few years. With all the madness surrounding Voldemort, he hadn't had much opportunity to really stop and appreciate how far he'd come in his physical transition.

Carefully, he peeled off the top, he felt every muscle in his back relax immediately, and he slumped forward slightly as he groaned with pleasure, enjoying the unrestricted flow of air into his lungs once more. He rotated his shoulders and his spine popped as he tossed the chest binder into the pile with his other dirty clothes, and snatched up a tiny tub of thick, sticky salve off his bedside table.

“Slow process, it's a slow process, that's what Pomfrey told you,” Harry muttered to himself as he unscrewed the top, scooped up a glob of the strong-smelling salve, and gently massaged it into his chest.

Harry could not completely understand why the muggle method for shrinking one's chest was so much quicker than with potions. Often it was the reverse, but Harry figured that it had to be fate. Something that he wanted—no, _needed_ would take such a frustratingly long time.

Not that there hadn't been any progress. In the months that Harry had been applying the stinky salve, his chest had shrunk significantly, and now they looked less like actual breasts, and more like the aptly named man boob. Even so, it still wasn't fast enough for Harry, and he had spent many nights over the winter fantasizing about swimming in the lake without his shirt. It would seem that he would be resigned to yet another summer without touching any body of water, at least until his chest looked like it was supposed to.

Washing the salve's residue off his hands with a damp flannel, Harry set aside the little tub and wrapped his chest in a thick cloth bandage to keep the stuff from wiping off in his sleep. As a last touch, Harry fished out the tiny vial from the pocket of his jeans, and twisted the stopper clockwise. A tiny hollow needle materialized attached to the stopper, and after casting a quick cleansing charm on his abdomen, he jammed the needle in at an angle without even a moment's hesitation.

Harry extracted the needle a moment later, the entry site healed instantly, and the needle itself vanished. A new spring in his step, he changed into a pair of striped pyjama bottoms and climbed into bed. _Maybe having a room all to myself isn't such a bad thing_ , he thought, and grinned at the idea of sending Ron and Seamus thank-you notes for beating the crap out of him. The image of their utter horror at receiving such a thing put a wide smile on Harry's face as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

The following morning, Harry got up earlier than he normally would have on a Sunday. He washed and dressed, and as a last touch extracted an old photograph from his treasured album before he headed down to the Great Hall to fetch a stack of buttered toast. He returned to the Fat Lady's portrait and Hermione stepped out not five minutes later, and stopped short when she caught sight of Harry standing there.

“Are you speaking to me again, then?” She asked coldly, and Harry bowed his head guiltily at the question.

“I, er, thought you might fancy a walk around the lake, and maybe we could talk? About what happened last week, I mean,” he spoke in a rush, and chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek while he waited for her answer.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, her eyes narrowed in a glare that showed more hurt than genuine anger. She seemed to realize that Harry's attempt to talk things out was genuine, and her shoulders slumped slightly as she gave in to his request.

“Fine,” she said at last, her expression still a little dark, though Harry beamed at her nonetheless.

 

Hermione's presence, if nothing else, proved to be useful as they circled the lake and munched quietly on their toast. Harry caught sight of a certain blond making his way towards them, and stopped short when he noticed Hermione. The uncertainty and hesitation was written all over his face at the sight of her, and he quickly spun on his heel and stalked off.

“What on earth was that about?” Hermione asked, staring after Malfoy's billowing, overpriced cloak as he headed back towards the castle.

“Malfoy has replaced the Creevey brothers as my new stalker,” Harry muttered, glaring at the retreating back of his would-be suitor.

“ _What?_ ” She said, aghast, as Harry turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide with shock. “I'm sorry, I mean... _what?_ Malfoy fancies you? Seriously?”

“It seems that way,” Harry grumbled, tossing his last slice of unfinished toast into the lake, and they paused to watch a solitary tentacle skim the surface and snatch it under. “At least, that's what he says. I'm not sure I believe him.”

“Why wouldn't you believe him?” she asked, clearly confused. “Is that what you came out here to tell me, that you fancy blokes?” Harry turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. He would have thought, she, of all people, would have understood his reluctance to willingly go within ten feet of Malfoy, especially after all he'd put them through over the years.

“Because he's a slimy Slytherin git, and for all I know he's using this as an excuse to fix his family's image—get in with the Chosen One or whatever the hell they're calling me these days. But, no, that's not it,” Harry paused, and amended, “I mean, I am—gay, I mean, but that's not what I wanted to tell you. D'you wanna sit?” He motioned to the beech tree they stood close to, and they took turns casting warming and drying charms on the ground, still a bit too cold and wet to sit for long periods of time, and Harry cast a quick privacy charm to ensure that they wouldn't be overheard.

“Okay, now you're making me nervous,” Hermione said as she settled down with Harry across from her. _Speak for yourself,_ Harry thought, and struggled to keep a hysterical laugh from escaping his throat.

“It's...about what caused Ron to get kicked out,” he said, dropping his gaze to his knees as he thought how to best phrase it. “I didn't want to tell you initially, but Sirius sort of talked me into it. Um...” Harry swallowed thickly, his voice momentarily failing him as he looked up at her, her eyes wide with both curiosity and concern.

“Um...Ron found out about me...what...what I am. There's a curse in place that keeps him from repeating what he knows to protect my privacy, but he, um, went berserk, to put it mildly. He and Seamus attacked me in Hogsmeade, and I was in a bad way by the time I made it to Pomfrey,” Harry finished and looked up, and saw Hermione's eyes were bulging in horror, both her hands clapped over her mouth.

“Oh _Harry,_ I can't believe this! I mean after all, Charlie's gay, everyone knows that how could R—” Harry held up a hand to silence her, and took a deep breath, feeling very much like a diver about to take the biggest leap of his life.

“No, that's not it. I—I,” Harry's voice died again. “ _Fuck,_ this is hard,” he hissed, raking a hand through his hair, and realized that as much as he wanted to, he simply _couldn't_ say it. Knowing that he still needed to figure out some way to tell her, he decided for the show and tell method.

With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the old, creased photograph. Feeling slightly sick, he pressed it into Hermione's hands.

“What's this?” She asked, her brow creased in confusion as she stared at it. Harry leaned over, still practically vibrating in place from his shaking fright. He pressed his fingertip against the photograph, which showed a much younger Sirius Black grinning broadly and holding a bundled up baby in a pink onesie and a tuft of wild black hair.

“That's Sirius, just after he was granted custody of me,” Harry said shakily, then dragged his finger down to point at the infant, “a-and that's me,” Harry choked out the words, and felt his stomach twist as his anxiety mounted, moreso when he could see that Hermione didn't understand what he was getting at.

“I was born Henrietta Lily Potter,” Harry said softly, “I—I was born a girl.”

Hermione's fingers went slack as she dropped the picture in her shock, and she fumbled for a moment to catch it, then looked up at Harry with wide eyes.

“Oh _Harry,_ ” Hermione's voice dropped to a sorrowful tone as understanding dawned upon her face, “you mean...are you saying...that you're, um, a transsexual?” Swallowing nervously, Harry nodded.

Harry's entire body was coiled like a tightly wound spring; waiting for the inevitable eruption of rage, rejection, and disgust.

What he hadn't counted on however, was acceptance.

Hermione threw herself at Harry, and he tensed, alarmed by the sudden movement, but she did nothing more than draw him into a tight hug. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his shoulder, and as his shock wore off, he returned the gesture.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione sniffed, as she sat back, withdrawing a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her eyes and blow her nose. “I'm just...oh, I can't believe Ron would do that to you! I love you Harry, you're my _best_ friend. I don't care if you're a girl, a boy, or a unicorn. You're still Harry, you're still my friend, and nothing could ever change that.”

Harry turned away from her for a moment, smiling, but overwhelmed by what he was hearing. He had not expected such instantaneous acceptance to his _big secret_ , and it had left him momentarily struck dumb with shock. His eyes were glassy, his throat suddenly tight with emotion, and he took several breaths in an effort to compose himself before he turned back to her.

“Thanks Hermione,” Harry said, his voice still a little hoarse, “it means a lot, especially after...” he trailed off as Hermione's expression darkened.

“It's nothing, seriously. I will be having words with that...oh, nevermind,” she glared at the grass as she trailed off, then refocused her gaze on Harry, “is it all right if I ask you about it, the...the transsexual thing?”

Harry felt his blood run cold, and he swallowed thickly. He looked away from Hermione quickly so that she would not see the panic there. This had been exactly what he'd been afraid of. Hermione and her infuriating need to know everything. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his anxiety before he responded.

“Yeah, you can,” Harry said, his tone apprehensive, “but if I think it's too personal a question I'm not gonna answer, just so you know.” He finished his statement, but the warning didn't seem to upset her as she visibly brightened, and nodded once.

“Of course, that's totally understandable. So, you were born a girl, but go by male pronouns and everything?” Harry nodded once, and she rushed on to her next question before Harry could say a word, “when did you know? I mean, by the time you started Hogwarts you were already Harry, and all the history texts involving Voldemort call you The Boy Who Lived not...the other thing.” She finished, smiling a little apologetically. Harry appreciated her cautious wording, as it was still uncomfortable at times to remember who he used to be. As far as he was concerned, that version of him was long dead, and he hated that he had to remember it.

“Sirius figured it out when I was really little, and Dumbledore helped him keep my transition quiet so that it just looked like a printing error, saying that James and Lily Potter had a...er, girl, instead of a boy. All the paperwork was fixed, and no one knew the truth. Sirius never explained it all to me, because I was five or six when it started to present himself, but anyone who became suspicious about it were diverted to other stuff, mostly by Dumbledore, I think, so even someone like Rita Skeeter didn't really have a chance of figuring it out.”

Harry fell silent, feeling both awkward and a little pleased that he had someone to talk about this with—other than Sirius, Madam Pomfrey, or the Mind Healer assigned to his case. He hadn't expected it to be such a freeing sensation—sharing this part of someone who was so close to him.

“Okay, so then how did you—er, change? I mean, I know it's done with steroids and things in the muggle world, but I never really had a reason to research the wizarding methods,” Hermione said, wincing a little at her phrasing, but Harry smiled at her reassuringly, indicating that she hadn't said anything particularly offensive—yet.

“The muggle world is about on even ground with the wizarding world with this stuff,” Harry said, unable to look at Hermione as he picked at the grass, lost in memory, “all the potions and stuff for this work really slowly, so that you can go through puberty gradually like a normal kid. I was on hormone blockers until I was twelve, then Sirius had me switched over to...well, testosterone suspended in a nut oil that I have to take once a week, and it makes me go through puberty like any normal bloke.”

“And what about...?” Hermione faltered, nodding to his chest, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. Understanding the body language, Hermione quickly changed subjects, “Harry...how did you use the changing rooms? Certainly someone may have noticed your...erm...” her cheeks coloured as she struggled to find the right word, “I mean, didn't anyone notice that your anatomy was a little...different?”

“Careful timing, mostly,” Harry said with a slight shrug, “I'd change into my Quidditch robes in the dormitories before I headed down the pitch most of the time. Wood was aware, he was so enamoured with my skills as a Seeker that he could care less what was in my pants. He was good about keeping it quiet though, and if anyone ever questioned my changing room habits, he was good about dismissing it as a weird quirk of mine or something to that effect.”

“So not all the boys were as closed-minded as Ron,” Hermione filled in with a small smile.

“Yeah, not all of them,” Harry agreed. Hermione's gaze dropped curiously to his crotch and he tensed, bracing himself for the invasive, definitely none of her business questions, but she seemed to understand the physical response, and thankfully she kept her mouth shut.

“Okay, now that that's all out of the way, we need to move on to more important matters,” she said, clapping her hands together as she spoke, and Harry's head snapped up in surprise as she turned to him, an intense look upon her face as she asked, “ _do you fancy Malfoy?_ ” Harry buried his face in his hands with a groan at her words, and she began to giggle.

“Fucking you and Sirius, I swear. It's _not_ funny Hermione, he won't leave me alone, and he doesn't seem to understand the definitions of _no, no way, bugger off,_ or _never in a million years._ I don't know how to be shot of him!”

“Is that because you actually don't fancy him, or is that because of your...er, complicated situation?” Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Harry had to resist the urge to jinx her. _Why_ did everyone seem to think that he was in love with Malfoy?

“It's because he's a slimy Slytherin git from a long line of slimy Slytherin gits. Have you forgotten that he quite cheerfully called you a 'mudblood' repeatedly, cursed you in our fourth year, and—”

“—Yes I know Harry, I'm not stupid,” she snapped, “He was foul for a long time, but haven't you noticed what he's been like this year?”

“He's added stalking to his list of talents?”

“No you twit,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “he's been _decent._ His father and mother are both out of the picture, he's no longer associating with any of the blood-purist Slytherins, and I even saw him come to the defence of a second year who was being harassed because she wasn't a pureblood. He's _changed_ Harry, or have you been too thick to notice...again?”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He tried again, but soon he found himself doing a remarkable impression of a fish out of water, while Hermione sat there with a triumphant smirk on her face.

“Shut up,” he muttered eventually, which caused her to laugh. Desperate to get away from the topic of his significant lack of observation skills, he decided to flip it back to her. “What're you going to do about Ron? I'd hate to be the cause of you two splitting up.”

“You wouldn't be the cause of us splitting Harry,” Hermione replied, her tone edged with annoyance, “Ron's closed-mindedness would be the cause. You just happened to be the...I don't know, catalyst or something. If Ron can't accept you, I can't accept him. I won't be with someone who hurts my friends.”

Harry felt a little warm at her words, though for once it was not out of embarrassment but pleasure. He hadn't counted on Hermione being so supportive, though in retrospect Harry thought he probably should have done. It wasn't in her nature to be bigoted, but it had always been difficult to gauge how people would react to his unique 'situation'.

“You know what, Hermione?” To his question, she turned back to him, her eyebrow cocked curiously.

“What?”

“I love you.” 

She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For those of you who don't know, 'in the muggle world' FTM chest surgery is done by two methods, the most common one is the Bilateral Mastectomy, which results in the two large scars just below the pecs that are sort of indicative of trans men these days. If the man's chest in question is small enough, they have what's called a “Keyhole” method, where the incisions are made right below the nipples and there's next to no scarring. The latter method isn't done very much though. The healing time is several weeks of wearing a tight bandage attached to drain tubes. It's not a pretty picture, and definitely not for the faint of heart. (And a pain in the ass in my country to get all the paperwork in order, even if it's covered by MediCare grumblegrumble...) 
> 
> As for Harry's method of injection, there are two ways hormones (for trans men) are administered by syringe. There's other ways, but by injection is the best/safest way to get the changes you want quickly. Either subcutaneously (in the fat just below your skin, usually in the stomach) or intramuscular (in the butt or thigh). SubQ injections, is what I do, and so I'm more familiar with how it feels and stuff, which is why Harry's injections are SubQ too. I'm writing this all here for any pre-T or pre-op trans men/transmasculine people who happen upon my story and want more information.


	3. Don't Lose Touch

Chapter Three – Don't Lose Touch

 

Harry wished that getting Malfoy to leave him alone was as easy as Hermione's acceptance of him was.

He wasn't harassing him, at least, not in a way that Harry would classify as harassment, it was more that he went from being an absolute prat to being an _incredibly annoying_ prat in his persistence of his apparent 'affections' for Harry.

It had started small, catching Harry when he was alone, taking his hand, possibly stealing a kiss. It didn't help that Malfoy was an infuriatingly good kisser. Hermione had always been rather good at cluing in to when Harry returned to the common room from another altercation with Malfoy, his beet-red face being a dead giveaway.

“Oh come on Harry,” she said after the sixth time that this happened, sprawling herself across his bed with her Arithmancy homework while he sat at his desk and glared at his Potions essay. “It's obvious you like him, why don't you just—”

“—I am _not_ in love with Draco effing Malfoy!” Harry snapped, and she looked up at him, her eyebrow cocked at him curiously.

“I didn't say love.”

Harry felt his face grow warm.

“Shut up.”

“Come on Harry, it's not that bad. What's that line? _The la—man doth protest too much_ , _methinks,_ ” she said with a knowing smile, but Harry blinked, it taking a moment for the implication to sink in.

“Shut up,” he repeated, turning back to his essay to hide his flush, and he struggled to ignore Hermione's laughter.

 

They worked through the free period in silence, then headed to the Great Hall for dinner, still discussing Hermione's insistence that dating Malfoy would be _good_ for him, and Harry's insistence that he wasn't interested in that git.

Halfway to the Great Hall, Hermione suddenly excused herself to run to the loo, and Harry leant against the stone wall of the passageway to wait for her.

Harry heaved a sigh as he banged his head lightly against the wall. The frustrating of it all was that Malfoy definitely didn't look as disgusting a prospect as he once had. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing to Hermione (or Sirius, who had been just as frustratingly persistent), if nothing else but to avoid their smug _I told you so_ looks.

“Potter!”

Harry swore.

Malfoy ran up to him, his cheeks mildly flushed, but a look in his eye that Harry didn't think would bode well for him. He reached for Harry's hand, and Harry instinctively flinched back. For once, Malfoy seemed to respect his boundaries, and let his arm fall to his side.

“It has occurred to me that perhaps I have gone about the task of wooing you all wrong,” he said, in a tone of voice not unlike someone who was pronouncing their world-changing discovery of the cure to some sort of deadly ailment. Harry was tempted to point out that he didn't want to be wooed at all, but Malfoy pressed forward before he could get a word in. “Harry, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?”

As with every other time Malfoy had done it, the use of his first name was enough to momentarily throw him off. Harry stared at the overconfident Slytherin, certain he'd misheard him, but as the words sunk in, Harry's expression shifted to an annoyed scowl.

“No.”

“Excellent, I—wait, no?”

“No,” Harry repeated.

“What do you mean,  _no_?” Malfoy asked, his mouth open in shock.

“No. Interjection. To express denial, disagreement, or refusal. _No_. Now would you _please_ stop badgering me?” Harry asked, but Malfoy did not seem as deterred as he would have liked by his negation.

“Oh, come on. Please? One date. I promise I'll behave myself,” Malfoy said, but Harry's scowl didn't fade.

“Pleading doesn't exactly become you, Malfoy. If you don't stop pestering me, I'll be happy to take a leaf out of Ginny's book and use the Bat-Bogey Hex on you.” Harry crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to hide the discomfort in his chest. The near-constant ache was frustrating, especially when he'd been so tight-lipped about his transition. At the threat however, Malfoy seemed to believe that Harry wasn't bluffing, and with a sulking expression, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

“Trouble in paradise?” Harry turned to see Hermione was back, her smile fading when she saw the look on his face.

“I threatened to hex him if he didn't knock off the stalking routine, more like,” Harry said, scowling at her wording, and she frowned.

“Oh _come on_ Harry! Why won't you humour him and just let him take you out?” Harry frowned, and Hermione continued before he could interject, “go out together, whatever. He likes you. _More_ than likes you.”

“All the more reason for me to stay far, far away from him,” Harry said as they fell into step alongside one another and made it the rest of the way to the Great Hall.

“That doesn't make _any_ sense, Harry! If he likes you, why would you try so hard to avoid him?”

“Maybe because I don't like him back?” Harry asked with an arched brow as they selected a spot at the Gryffindor table a little ways from the others.

“Yes you do,” Hermione said with absolute certainty, while she turned her attention to serving herself an overlarge portion of beef casserole and roast potatoes.

“I do _not_ ,” Harry hissed as Lavender Brown walked past, slowing slightly to listen in on their conversation. They both waited until she went to join Parvati before they started up again.

“Oh yeah?” Hermione said, arching a brow, “then why are you blushing?”

Harry scowled again, and began filling his plate. When he didn't answer, Hermione smirked triumphantly and began to eat.

 

The following morning, Harry was distracted from pulling his school robes on by a sharp tapping at his window. Half-dressed in his pants, white shirt and tie, he wandered over to the window, still clutching his trousers in his hand.

“Oh bloody hell,” he muttered as he recognized the handsome eagle owl outside his window, a rose in its beak, and a letter tied to its leg.

Having a feeling that the owl would not leave until it had delivered its letter, Harry grudgingly unlatched the window and allowed it to swoop inside. It dropped the rose on his bed, then landed on the nearby wardrobe and extended its leg towards Harry.

With delicate touches like he was handling an explosive, he untied the letter from the creature's leg, and it immediately took off again. Harry closed the window behind it and tossed the letter next to the rose, feeling highly uncomfortable at the gesture. Roses were things _girls_ were given. Not boys, and certainly not him. Harry could feel the first talons of a panic attack hook into him, and in response he incinerated the flower. The letter however, had come away partially singed, but mostly in one piece. He would have liked to throw the damn thing away, but he knew that the curiosity was going to kill him if he didn't at least see what Malfoy had to say. He picked it back up, slit the envelope, and shook the letter open.

 

_Dear Harry,_

 

_I have a feeling that you are a man of your word, and would likely attempt to hex me the next time I approached you. As such, I felt that approaching you, as it were, from a safe distance might be best. My affections for you are quite genuine, I assure you, though in retrospect, I can see how it may not seem that way to you._

_I suppose the best way to explain it is that I did not recognize for what it was until the war was over. It wasn't exactly a good time to cross-examine my feelings, given that I had a mad dark lord living under my roof._

_I cannot say I dealt with it all particularly well, and many times I did not want these emotions. What would Father say? As a result, I did some terrible things to you and your friends in my desperation to purge my mind of images of you and I being a disgusting, adorable couple._

_I needn't repeat it all here, we have enough stories of our rivalry between us to easily fill seven books. I just wish to tell you again, I am in love with you, Harry Potter. Please give me a chance._

 

_Draco L. Malfoy_

 

Harry stared at the letter.

It filled him with a queasy sensation that he could not recall ever feeling before. Phrases jumped out at him, and memories came to mind of the war, the year on the run, Malfoy being forced to perform Unforgivable Curses for Voldemort, Malfoy clinging to him as they fled the Fiendfyre on broomsticks...

The last one made Harry feel very warm.

He shook his head, tossed aside the letter, and hurried into the rest of his clothes. His bag slung over his shoulder, he faltered, his gaze turning back and falling on the letter. He moved back into the room, picked it up, folded it into a small square, and pocketed it.

Harry had a lot to think about.

 

Harry managed to pass through most of the day without Hermione pestering him about his apparent stalker, and no more love notes made their way over to him. He did however feel as though someone was watching him a few times throughout the day, only to turn and find Malfoy suddenly taking a great interest in the backs of his hands.

By the end-of-day N.E.W.T-level Potions lesson, Harry was completely exhausted. Who knew personal relationship stuff could be so tiring? He settled in next to Hermione, just as Slughorn swept into the room.

“Afternoon, afternoon everyone! Now, we have allowed your Amortentia ample time to stew over the weekend, and today we will be able to complete the brewing process and have your samples bottled and tested! Go fetch your cauldrons first before you raid the store cupboards, if you please!”

There was a loud scraping of the wood benches against the stone dungeon floors as the seventh and eighth year students stood up and headed to the back of the class. Their cauldrons had been set up in a neat line, and protected from younger students tampering with it by a shield charm, which the professor now took down to enable them to grab their cauldrons.

The low babble of people talking to their friends filled the silence, but Harry felt too drained to say much of anything to Hermione, and the pair grabbed their cauldrons and headed back to their desk. Harry had just set his down and made to move to the store cupboards to get the ingredients he needed, when someone brushed past him, not enough to jar him, but close enough that he could feel their body heat. He looked up and flushed a deep red as Malfoy looked back at him with a trademark smirk, and he tried valiantly to ignore the knowing look Hermione was giving him.

They worked mostly in silence for a good portion of the period, and though Harry's potion _looked_ how it was supposed to, it just didn't smell right to him.

“I dunno what I did wrong,” Harry whispered to Hermione as he ran his fingers down the instructions and turned back to his cauldron, giving the bubblegum pink potion a nervous stir. “It definitely smells wrong,” he said for what was likely the dozenth time.

“As far as I can see, you did everything right. Now Harry stop pestering me, I need to focus on mine,” she hissed softly as Slughorn swept past, her potion looking exactly as Harry's did, which told him that at least he wasn't _too_ far off the mark. The professor stopped mid-step, and turned back to him with a wide, pleased smile upon his face.

“My, my, what's this?” He asked, clapping his hands together and rubbing them enthusiastically as he looked down at both Harry and Hermione's potions. They both flushed similar shades of red under the man's scrutiny. “Two _perfect_ potions from our Gryffindors! Well done, both of you! I'd say this warrants twenty-five points apiece, wouldn't you say? Precious few of my N.E.W.T students ever manage a perfect love potion on the first attempt. Miss Granger, I expected no less from you, and Mister Potter, well done indeed!”

The pair flushed similar shades of pink under his praise, and as he had been talking the bell rang. The other students scrambled to bottle a sample of their potion for the professor, while Harry and Hermione did the same.

“See Harry?” Hermione said as she shouldered her bag and followed Harry out of the classroom, “you had nothing to worry about. Do I need to worry that you'll catch up to me in potions?”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Harry said with a short laugh, “I just got—” but Harry froze as Malfoy brushed past the pair of them, turning back just long enough to wink at Harry, before disappearing in the direction of Slytherin house. It was not the look that had made Harry stop dead in his tracks however.

Malfoy's cologne smelled exactly like his love potion.

  

~*~

 

A fortnight after his attack by Ron and Seamus, amidst the mountains of homework, revising for his N.E.W.T.s, and Hermione's tentatively questioning him about some very private things regarding his anatomy. Amongst it all, Malfoy was alternating between steering clear of him and instead sending him nauseating love notes, or following him around like a lost puppy. Combined, it was beginning to wear heavily on Harry, and it amazed him that he had not yet cracked under the pressure.

On the cusp of April, Harry found himself on a sunny Friday afternoon hiding in a corner of the library, in the History of Magic section. The intricate, untouched cobwebs were a testament to how few students perused these shelves, and Harry had hoped that this meant that he was less likely to be disturbed.

He had his Transfiguration essay pressed into a thick volume that he had balanced on his knees, (Explain The Procedure for Switching Spells Involving Hot and Cold-Blooded Creatures) and he was scratching away in silence, engrossed in the task and determined to finish all his homework as quickly as possible so that he could have one peaceful, stress-free weekend to himself.

Unfortunately, the Fates seemed determined to not let Harry James Potter have anything that might even remotely resemble a quiet, peaceful life, and in the dead silence of the library, he heard a soft voice speak.

“Marco.”

Harry looked up, blinking with confusion. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing?

“Marco,” the voice said again. It was high, boyish, and slightly familiar, though Harry couldn't place it. It sounded as though it had come closer, but Harry wasn't certain. Assuming he was hearing things, Harry bowed his head and returned to his work.

“Marco,” it said again. Harry looked up from his essay again and stared into the stacks beyond where he sat. His curiosity and confusion piqued in equal measure, and he caved.

“Polo?”

A blond head swooped into his aisle, and Harry cursed.

“I can't believe that actually worked. I owe Granger for this,” Malfoy smirked, and Harry set aside his work as he stood up.

“ _Hermione_ told you to play Marco Polo to find me?”

“Well, I told her that I was looking for you, and she said that you were probably in the library, and she told me about this inane muggle game. I thought she was just having me on, but it's actually a game muggles play?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his voice edged with annoyance, “not usually a stalking tactic, though.” Harry crossed his arms as he glared at the taller boy, while he made a mental note to murder Hermione for giving him up.

“Oh, come on Potter!” He said softly so as to not incite Madam Pince's wrath, and stepped closer with a confident smirk in place. “One date. That's all I ask. Let me take you out _once._ If you still hate me, I'll leave you alone.”

He reached for Harry's hands, and Harry was too slow to move away. He was rather surprised by how warm Malfoy's hands felt over his. Somehow, he doubted that Malfoy's sentiment was genuine, and he doubted that the Slytherin would stop pestering him, but it was worth a try.

“All right, fine,” Harry grumbled, his face heating as he looked at Malfoy, but he refused to show weakness and look away. “ _One_ date.”

Malfoy's mouth split into a wide, genuine smile. It was a little alarming for Harry to see it in place of his usual smirk, and before he could utter a word of protest he swept in close and kissed Harry once.

“I promise you won't regret it,” Malfoy purred, the low, seductive tone making Harry shiver involuntarily. When had Malfoy's voice begun to sound so _good_ to him? “Tomorrow, noon. Meet me in the Entrance Hall.”

 

~*~

  

Hermione was waiting for him just inside the common room, and her face split into a grin the moment she saw him.

“Did he find you? Did he actually do it? Did you say yes?” She asked all three questions very fast.

“Come on, we'll talk in my dormitory,” he said, annoyed with her manipulations, but her enthusiasm was endearing in a strange way, and Harry found that he couldn't be as furious with her as he wanted to be. He led her up to the Head Boy's room, and warded the door with silencing and locking charms before he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed with a satisfying _flump._

 

“Come on Harry,” she said, sitting down on the available desk chair, turned to face him as he lay back on the bed. “Spit it out. What happened?”

“I was in the library, wonder of wonders, _trying_ to study,” Harry said, turning his head a little to look at her, but didn't get up. She beamed at the words, clearly pleased that he hadn't been goofing off. “Then I heard the most curious thing. Can you perhaps guess what it was?”

“He didn't! He took my Marco Polo suggestion?” She laughed, clearly unable to believe what she was hearing.

“Do you have _any_ idea how weird it is to hear someone like _Malfoy_ playing Marco Polo?” Harry asked, finally sitting up. Hermione seemed to be overcome with a bad case of the giggles, and her face was rather red. “Also, thanks ever so for giving me up. You and Sirius I swear, it's like you two _want_ me to go with Malfoy or something.”

“Well, you can't deny that you'd make a very handsome couple,” she said after she had finally calmed down. “Sirius is a surprise though, I thought he'd be dead-set against it.”

“Yeah, so did I, but went I met with him a while back to...er, discuss what happened with Ron it came up, and he asked me if I fancied him—which I _don't—_ ”

“—except you agreed to go out with him, didn't you?”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped, and Hermione giggled again. “Anyway, he didn't seem angry about it, just...I dunno...curious, I guess. He's been acting less like Sirius and more like Mr Supportive Parent ever since this thing happened.”

“And which thing might that be, Malfoy courting you, or Ron transforming into the world's biggest git?” Hermione asked, her tone turning a little sour at the mention of her ex-boyfriend.

“The second one, mostly. He's sent me a couple owls warning me not to open anything from Ron, just in case it's cursed or something,” Harry bowed his head and tugged at a loose thread on the bedspread. It was so weird to imagine that Ron might actually send him something cursed after all they'd been through. Ron was his best mate, how could he do this?

“Well it's good he's not being dismissive of it, at least. Some parents might think you're overreacting, but I'm glad that Sirius is being serious about it.”

“Yeah, Sirius is taking the whole thing pretty seriously,” Harry said, “but he's way too thrilled about this thing with Malfoy. I mean, it's just...it not that simple.” Hermione's brow furrowed with confusion at his words, as though Harry had suddenly began to speak Farsi.

“What do you mean, 'not that simple'?” Hermione asked, and Harry frowned as he looked over at her, while he tried to think of a way to phrase what he was thinking without hurting her feelings. He never had to explain himself so much before, Sirius had raised him with this, he only ever spoke to Healers and Teachers who understood what he was going through, no questions asked. He knew Hermione meant no harm, but it was still difficult to articulate beyond a simple, 'you wouldn't understand.'.

“You can't understand what it's like,” Harry began tentatively, his eyes focused resolutely upon the quilt, “because you're not like me. I mean, I can explain it, but even then you won't completely get it because you never had to live it. I mean, when you grow up with this huge, terrifying secret, and the people who find out react like Ron? It makes it hard to trust people. And Malfoy...say by some ridiculous fluke we get together, how's he gonna react when he finds out I've got—” he winced and broke off, unable to say it. The mere thought of what rested between his legs made is stomach clench in panic and misery. And even if Malfoy did, by some wild fluke, accept him and everything that came with it, he would want to be intimate, and that was something Harry _couldn't_ do.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione's voice had taken on a soft, sad tone, and Harry looked up just in time to see his tearful friend launch herself at him and pull him into a tight hug. He felt her tears dampen his shoulder, and he patted her back awkwardly while she held him and cried softly.

When she'd calmed down a little she pulled back and sat next to him on the bed. She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, and it was several minutes before she was calm enough to speak.

“If he's really as decent as he seems to be lately, he won't care. If he does, well, we'll just have to curse his bollocks off or something equally as lowbrow and disgusting.” She grinned, and Harry laughed weakly, though inside the whole prospect of going out with Malfoy left him feeling cold as ice.

 

The next Saturday found Harry pacing in the Entrance Hall, hands crammed in his pockets and his face definitely more red than usual.

Hermione had insisted on helping him dress for his big 'date' but given that he'd left his dress robes at home and he only had jeans, T-shirts and jumpers to choose from apart from his school robes, Hermione was most displeased at his complete lack of fashion sense. In the end, she'd forced on him a pair of black jeans he almost never wore due to the fact that they clung to him like a second skin. At her insistence however he pulled them on (while her back was turned) and moved over to the drawer of his night table, and rummaged through his things until he found what he wanted.

“What's _that_?” Hermione asked curiously, staring at the fleshy pink thing in his hand.

“My cock,” Harry replied, his voice deadpan, and he smirked a little when he saw her go a little pink, when she realized that he was indeed holding a fake penis in his hand. “It's a muggle thing, since most wizardwear is kind of...loose, there's really no call for it. It's called a packer, it sort of...lends to the impression that I—er, have something down there.”

Not waiting for her response, he turned and shoved it into the little pocket in the front of his pants that was designed for this very purpose. After he'd zipped up, his crotch looked no different than any other bloke in tight pants.

Hermione seemed to sense his discomfort at the topic, and instead moved on to selecting a top for him. Given that it was still a little cold out, Hermione selected a jumper in bottle green, which he layered over a simple black T-shirt. She pushed his dragonhide boots at him when he'd made a grab for his trainers, the only 'nice' shoes he owned. Glaring at her a little, he pulled on the boots without a word.

 

 _What am I doing, what am I doing...This is fucking mad._ The thought circulated in his mind as he stood in the Entrance Hall,and he scanned the crowd again, looking for his 'date'. The whole thing had dissolved Harry into a mess of nerves, in particular the how and when he should divulge the big secret of his biological history to Malfoy—or if he should say anything at all.

 _I may as well keep my mouth shut,_ Harry thought while he waited, _this won't work out anyway so I shouldn't bother putting myself out there like that._

At the same moment that he'd come to a decision, he saw a familiar blond head weaving through the crowd. Harry felt mildly queasy at the sight of him, especially considering Malfoy had taken more care than usual in dressing himself, and Harry hated to admit it, but he looked _good_. Dressed in solid black from his throat to his boots, the suit came close to high-end muggle style, but Harry knew better than to assume that Malfoy would dress in anything other than wizarding garb.

When Malfoy reached him, he took Harry's hand, and the hissing whispers broke out around him almost instantly. Harry felt his face grow warm; this would be all over the castle by dinner.

“Ready to go?” Malfoy asked, and Harry felt his heart jump into his throat at the question.

He opened his mouth to reply, but all he managed was something close to a grunt. Malfoy seemed to take this as a yes, and began to steer Harry out the doors amidst their gawking classmates.

The walk to Hogsmeade was silent and painfully awkward, at least for Harry. Malfoy strode at his side, their fingers twined together, and a smile on his face as though he'd just won some fabulous prize. At the same time Malfoy looked at ease, collected, the perfect aristocrat. Harry felt himself flush again. He'd been privy to some of this type of behaviour growing up when a Black family member would come unannounced, usually to contest Sirius's inheritance, and Harry would watch his godfather fall back into a stance and vocabulary so similar to the Malfoys it was almost eerie. To see it again on the face of someone he was currently holding hands with was weird on a whole different level.

 _What am I doing..._ Harry thought for the umpteenth time as they made it to the village, and he felt his face burn again as he tried to ignore the stares and hissing whispers of students and teachers that passed them by. Malfoy, in contrast, seemed to be loving the attention.

“Want to go in?”

“Sorry, what?” Malfoy's voice snapped Harry out of his daze, and he looked up, alarmed by how physically close Malfoy suddenly was to him. Startled, he jumped back a little.

“I asked if you wanted to go in,” Malfoy said, nodding towards the pub to their right. His eyes were glittering in the spring sunlight, and at that moment they seemed to be less grey and more like molten silver. He did not seem offended by Harry's knee-jerk reaction, and brushed his thumb across the back of Harry's hand clearly in what he thought was a soothing gesture while he continued to speak. “We could go into the Three Broomsticks for a pint, if you like.”

“Er, yeah, all right,” Harry's insides squirmed uncomfortably at the words. Malfoy again took the lead, and steered Harry into the pub.

 

Still flushing a deep red, painfully self-conscious at all the stares he was getting for being seen out with _Malfoy_ , of all people. He was only distantly aware of Malfoy steering him to the back of the pub and pressing him down into a chair. Malfoy left him momentarily to go to the bar, and he returned a moment later with two bottles of butterbeer.

He handed one of the unopened bottles to Harry, and Harry stared at it dubiously. What was Malfoy up to? _Why_ was he suddenly interested in him? It made no sense.

“I haven't hexed it, you know,” Malfoy said, snapping Harry out of his daze and making his eyes snap up in surprise. Malfoy watched him for a moment, his mouth quivering somewhere between a smirk and a genuine smile, then with a heavy sigh he reached across the little table and rested his hands over Harry's. He jerked back in surprise, but Malfoy tightened his grip to keep Harry from pulling away. Panicked, his eyes snapped up to meet Malfoy's alarmingly intense gaze.

“Let me tell you something Potter,” Malfoy murmured, his grip on Harry's hands relaxing as he brushed his thumb across Harry's palm like he had done earlier, but it did little more than make Harry's heart jump into his throat. “Over the holidays, the reconstruction, whatever you want to call it, I was disinherited by my parents.”

Whatever Harry had expected, it wasn't that.

“Er, I'm sorry?” Harry winced at how he sounded, and tried again. “I mean, why? What did you do?”

“I refused to testify on my father's behalf for one, and then I refused to court the nice, respectable pureblooded girl they'd intended me to marry. I believe the last straw came when I told my mother I was gay and in love with—” he stopped short and pulled back his hands as he went a little pink. Harry arched an eyebrow, but he didn't explain who he was in love with, but it didn't take a genius to work out that Malfoy meant _him_.

“My mother kicked me out of the house,” Malfoy continued, his voice getting thick with emotion as he spoke, despite his best efforts to maintain his cool aloof demeanour. “My father is still technically the head of the family, despite the fact that he's in prison. He froze my accounts. I would have been destitute had it not been for one of my relatives stepping in and putting me up while I sorted out my financial mess. My dear Auntie Bellatrix had believed I had _potential_ , whatever that meant, and left me a sizable inheritance that my parents couldn't legally touch. Mother took off to America not long after, and now the Malfoy Manor sits abandoned. My disinheritance is as magical as it is legal, and I cannot physically enter. In an effort to shame my parents further, I donated most of dear departed Auntie's gold to that muggleborn charity thing.”

Malfoy seemed rather pleased with himself, and Harry eased back in his seat, shocked, and wondering just how much of what he'd told Harry were gross exaggerations. Of course, he knew the charity he was talking about, it was a fund set up to help children orphaned during the war, but many of them were muggleborn or half-blood, and it quickly became known as 'the muggleborn charity'. Technically, he was a co-chairman on the board, but he just lent his name to the cause and fed in as much of his own money as he could into it.

“Why?” Harry finally asked, eyeing him quizzically as he finally caved, reached for his butterbeer, and cracked it open.

“Why what?” Malfoy asked, arching a brow. A faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as Harry took a sip of his drink. It was only then that he opened his own and mirrored Harry's action.

“I mean, why bother? Why are you doing this...any of this? You're a Slytherin. What's in it for you?” Harry nursed the drink as he fell silent, finding himself strangely unable to take his eyes off his blond companion.

“I grew up brainwashed by my parents to hate muggleborns, hate the lower class, in essence, hate anyone who was different from me. I felt...obligated, I suppose, to right some of the wrongs my family have done. The more selfish goal, I must admit, was to get on your good side.” He arched a narrow eyebrow, and Harry felt his face heat. He continued before Harry could jump in. “It sounds crude, I know. But I have been...erm, let's say interested in you for a long time. I admit I didn't exactly show it in the best way, and I'm hoping this year we can set aside old rivalries and start anew.”

Malfoy's face glowed with hope, and he stared at Harry like he was the sun, the moon, and the stars. It made Harry deeply uncomfortable, especially because he didn't dislike it as much as he thought he should.

“But ever since I first met you, you've hated me, and I you. What changed?” Harry asked, still feelingly utterly bewildered at Malfoy's attitude towards him over the last few weeks.

“I wouldn't say _hate_...” Malfoy trailed off as he brought a finger to his bottom lip where a droplet of drink clung to it. His pink tongue darted out to catch it, and Harry felt himself go even redder when he realized how intently he was staring at those lips. “More...Jealousy? Misdirected affection? Homosexuality isn't exactly _taboo_ for wizards, but many pure-blooded families prefer a marriage that will create heirs. Being gay would displease my father, and I was very close with him for a very long time.”

Malfoy's hand finally fell away from his, and Harry found himself mourning the loss of it. He watched Malfoy curl both hands around the bottle he held, and shifted his gaze to it.

“No matter what I did however, I couldn't get you off my mind.” Malfoy looked back up, and Harry could see the naked honesty in his eyes. He felt awash with sympathy for the other boy. It must have been terribly difficult for him to come to terms with something his parents would so deeply disapprove of. Harry couldn't exactly relate.

Just like with knowing Harry's true gender, Sirius had picked up on his attraction to other boys early on, aided in part by Sirius's own leanings. Though at least Malfoy never had the unfortunate experience of walking in on his godfather in some terribly awkward positions with one lover or another. After that, Harry quickly learned to knock before he stepped into his godfather's room, and not ask why he had a mirror on his ceiling, or muggle handcuffs in his nightstand drawer. The memories almost made him laugh and shudder simultaneously, but he did not think he could explain the reaction to his companion, and he forced his mind back to the present.

Harry sipped his drink as he tried to think of what to say that wouldn't sound insensitive. Yeah, he'd spent the better part of the last seven years hating the person that sat before him, but he wasn't cruel. Malfoy had laid himself bare for Harry to judge, and he felt like he had to tread carefully—he didn't want to hurt him unnecessarily.

It was true, Harry realized, and Hermione—damn her—had been right. Malfoy _had_ changed. It was still difficult for Harry to come to terms with that fact, just as the warm look Malfoy was giving him was incredibly strange to see. How had he never noticed that Malfoy was so damn _sentimental_?

His knee bumped Harry's under the table in a move that _had_ to be deliberate, and he felt himself flush for what was likely the hundredth time that afternoon.

“I like you Harry,” Malfoy said softly, laying a hand over his. The ivory skin contrasted well with Harry's tan complexion, and he was so startled by this fact that his voice seemed to be caught in his throat. Harry had no idea what to say. No one had ever come on to him so strongly before (Ginny's second year singing valentine notwithstanding) and he had absolutely no idea what to do. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound came out. It didn't help that he could practically feel the stares of his classmates burning into him, but he didn't dare turn to look. What if it was a fellow Gryffindor, accusing him with their eyes of betraying them by seeing Malfoy? He didn't think he could reasonably handle any more stress right now.

Malfoy threaded his fingers through Harry's, stood, and gave his hand a gentle tug.

“Come with me,” he said, the smooth arrogance slipping back into his tone. “Let's find somewhere a little more private to...talk.”

If the glint in Malfoy's eye was any indication, he wanted to do much more than just _talk._ Harry stood stiffly and again followed Malfoy's lead. It felt strange, almost degrading to so willingly let Malfoy steer him around like some sort of bizarre show dog, but at the same time, the hand in his felt...nice.

 

Malfoy led him out of the pub and down the high street, then veered off the path and into the trees just shy of the property line of a little cottage. Harry's nerves began to mount again, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the illusion that he was as calm and collected as his companion. How would he explain a sudden panic attack? Normal people didn't freak out over sneaking off for a snog.

It didn't take long for Malfoy's free hand to curl around the back of Harry's neck as he was pulled in for a warm kiss. Harry lifted his hands to stop him, but instead they curled in the fabric of his blazer, and he returned the kiss.

“Wow,” Harry breathed when they broke apart, and Malfoy grinned, clearly pleased with Harry's reaction.

“Wow indeed,” he purred, lifting a hand to stroke Harry's cheek. “ _Now_ do you believe me when I say that I like you?”

“I—” Harry broke off when he felt Malfoy's hand slip from his and come to rest on his hip. He felt all the colour drain from his face as the reality of the situation slammed into him, and his breath stilled.

“Harry?” Malfoy asked, his brow furrowed with concern, “are you all right?”

“I—I...I just—I can't do this,” Harry stuttered in a rush, and pulled back and out of Malfoy's grip. It felt for a second that he wasn't going to let Harry go, but after a moment he gave in and Harry looked at his companion, his heart clenching when he saw the hurt and confusion there. “I'm sorry.”

Harry fled.


	4. The Ocean

Chapter Four – The Ocean

 

Harry did not stop running until he'd made it back to Gryffindor Tower. He barricaded himself in his new room and rushed over to his bedside table and yanked open the drawer with shaking hands. He sifted through all the junk he'd filled it with, hissing a curse as he went.

“Come on, where is it?” he grumbled, just as a soft knock sounded on his door, and Hermione's muffled voice followed.

“Harry, are you in there?”

“Go away Hermione,” Harry called out, grimacing at the trembling quality of his voice. He did not look up from what he was doing, and he heard her break the locking charms he'd placed on his door easily. She slipped inside, just as Harry fished out the tiny vial he was looking for, containing a lavender potion.

“Harry, what—” Hermione cut herself off as she watched Harry unstopper the vial and knock back the potion with his eyes shut, his hands shaking so badly it was a miracle he hadn't spilled any of it. He sat down on the end of his bed with a deep sigh, and buried his face in his hands while he waited for the Calming Draught to take effect.

“Harry,” she said gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him, “what happened? You came rushing into the tower and you looked like you'd seen a ghost. Did Malfoy hurt you or something?”

“No, it was me, not him,” Harry mumbled, at last turning his head to look at his friend. “I just...it sort of clicked for me that he'd want...and I—I _can't_. I can't do it. The idea of anything sexual and I feel like I'm gonna throw up. And it's not a virgin thing either, it's a body dysphoria thing.”

“What do you mean Harry?” She asked, her brow furrowing and Harry felt his stomach clench. He hated this part of telling people about himself.

“I mean, when you look down at yourself, you just...see it, and accept it. For me, it's like being afraid of heights, and constantly standing on the edge of high-rise building or something. I _can't_ look at myself. I don't feel like my body is really mine. I'm sort of...disconnected from it, almost. And the prospect of intimacy, it means I have to acknowledge myself...I have to deal with what I have and don't have, and I just...I can't do it.” Harry looked down and saw that his hands were still trembling slightly, and when he looked back up he saw that Hermione's eyes had become rather glassy.

“Oh Harry...you've always felt like this?”

“It comes and it goes,” Harry said, feeling a little self conscious as he spoke, like he was under a stage light. “Sometimes I feel more...er, okay with myself, and sometimes I just want to crawl into a hole where no one can see me. But I've never felt completely okay. And—and Malfoy would want to do things, _see_ me and I just...I _can't_.” Harry felt himself flush as his voice cracked and his vision swam.

“But then...” Hermione said thoughtfully, “maybe trying things with Malfoy might help you.”

“Help me how? I'm not exactly keen on getting beaten to a bloody pulp again.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her tone of voice making it clear that she was close to losing her patience with him, “he _likes_ you. More than likes you. He came and asked _me_ how to get to know you better. And to say we don't get on would be putting it mildly,” she paused when Harry laughed weakly. “But it's obvious that his feelings are genuine. Maybe I'm too much of a romantic, but I don't think Malfoy will react like Ron did if you choose to tell him. I think he might be really good for you.” She stood up as she finished, leaned in, and gently pressed a kiss to his temple. “Think about it, all right?”

Without another word, she slipped out of his door and fixed his locking charms before her footsteps faded away.

 

The following day, Harry woke up late, dressed, and was preparing to head to the Great Hall for lunch, given that he'd slept so late he'd missed breakfast.

Harry stepped through the empty common room, but stopped short once he'd reached the portrait hole when he heard voices coming from the other side of it.

“...Don't know what I did Granger, he just bolted.”

“Harry's got a lot of stuff going on, he's really stressed. If you want to know why, ask him, not me,” Hermione said firmly, and Harry smiled in spite of himself.

“As if he'll talk to _me_ Granger. He doesn't trust me, and he panicked yesterday when I took him out, I haven't the foggiest idea what I said or did to spark that...reaction. If _you_ spoke to him on my behalf...”

“I'm _not_ an owl Malfoy,” she snapped before he could finish, “I'm not getting in between you two. If you have an issue, talk to _Harry_.”

The distinctive rustle of Hermione turning to head back into the common room made Harry rush back to the stairwell leading to the Boys' dormitories, and he strode across the common room as casually as he could, pretending he hadn't heard her talking about him not thirty seconds earlier.

She climbed back into the portrait hole with a scowl on her face, and Harry cocked an eyebrow in what he hoped was a questioning expression. Upon seeing him, her scowl deepened.

“You need to talk to your boyfriend,” she said simply, and Harry sputtered.

“He is _not_ my boyfriend,” Harry snapped, and Hermione grinned in an infuriatingly knowing sort of way.

“Is that wedding bells I hear? Malfoy would look so good in white.”

“Shut up,” Harry said with a glare, “There's nothing going on between us. We had one date. One. And it was a spectacular failure, might I add.”

“Harry,” she said with a heavy, frustrated sigh, “You like him, he likes you. You've been obsessed with each other for years,” Hermione raised her voice when Harry opened his mouth to argue, “and it's about time you two got together and stopped obsessing over what the other is doing twenty-four hours a day.”

“I am _not_ obsessed with Mal—” Harry began hotly, but Hermione was quick to interrupt him.

“—Sixth year,” she said simply, and Harry felt his face burn.

“I thought he was a Death Eater. That's different. I'm not in _love_ with the git. I thought he was up to something. A couple stolen kisses and one catastrophe of a date doesn't make up for seven years of being an utter prat.” Harry knew his face was likely bright red as he spoke, and his jumbled explanation did little to wipe the smile off Hermione's face.

“Go put on something nicer, and go find Malfoy—Draco. Talk to him. Harry, I really believe that you're making a huge mistake in giving up before you two even got started.”

Harry stared her down, but she stared right back unblinkingly.

Knowing he wasn't going to win this one, he turned and shuffled back up the stairs, Hermione following behind with a triumphant grin on her face.

“You know,” Harry said as they both stepped back into his room and she closed the door behind her before standing in front of it like a Hellhound guarding a Devil's Gate, “generally it's not good form to _force_ someone to come out to someone they _really_ don't want to come out to.”

“I'm not forcing you to tell Malfoy about your...situation. That's entirely up to you, Harry. What I _am_ forcing you to do is to go and _explain_ yourself to him. Because you need to do it, and so that he'll stop pestering _me_ about it.”

“You don't have to listen to him, just...I dunno, hex him, turn him into a giant blueberry, something,” Harry mumbled, turning his back on her to look over his clothes choices. Why did he need to change to talk to _Malfoy_? Malfoy knew what he looked like.

“I'm not hexing him just to keep him from talking to you. Now, do what I say, change, and go find your boyfriend.”

Harry glared at her, and she responded with an innocent smile. 

 

~*~

 

Harry felt extremely uncomfortable.

He wasn't used to talking about himself, not in such an intimate way, and now he somehow had to explain to Malfoy, of all people, why he freaked out the day before.

Harry was dressed in the same jeans from the day before and one of his nicer long-sleeved shirts, in the same shade. Hermione had been quite pleased with the outfit she'd chosen for him, but Harry wasn't so sure about it. He tugged awkwardly on the sleeves as he made his way down from the tower.

After a quick bite in the Great Hall, Harry wandered about the castle, looking for Malfoy halfheartedly. He _really_ didn't want to find him and _talk_ , but neither did he want to get back to the common room and face Hermione's wrath for having _not_ done it. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he could not tell which was worse: Malfoy or Hermione. He'd come to the conclusion that he might as well sack up and tell Malfoy the truth, as coming up with and maintaining a plausible cover story was too exhausting. He had his wand handy just in case Malfoy reacted like Ron or Seamus, and with the curse in place, it wasn't like Malfoy would be able to go running to Rita Skeeter or anything.

Harry had wandered out into the courtyard, intent on giving it a cursory glance before heading back to Gryffindor Tower, but his plans for a feeble, “I couldn't find him,” were dashed when he heard a familiar, drawling voice call his name.

“Potter!”

“ _Damn it,_ ” Harry hissed, and turned to see Malfoy, who was running up to him with a strange look on his face. It was a far cry from his usual casually confident swagger, and if Harry was to put a name to it, he'd say that Malfoy looked worried. The expression was enough to make Harry falter in his burning desire to bolt, and he cast nervous glances to the few other students that occupied the courtyard, openly staring as Malfoy ran up to him.

“You took off fairly quickly yesterday,” he said, his usual drawl returning to his voice. “Not very Gryffindor-like to run away like that.” Malfoy reached forward to take Harry's hand, but froze and allowed the arm to drop while he watched him uncertainly. Harry hated that he felt disappointed that Malfoy hadn't followed through with the small gesture.

“I...er...Fuck, this is hard,” Harry looked away as he felt himself go red. “I...er...don't date a whole lot, and I, uh,” Harry broke off his stammers when he felt a warm hand slip into his. Harry squeezed it gently.

“Are you going to say you don't date much because you're afraid people only want you because of your fame? Because that's not why I'm interested in you,” Malfoy murmured softly, and Harry felt his stomach turn over, panic and desire fighting for dominance, and for the first time since all of this had started, Harry genuinely didn't know which instinct was stronger. _Damn Sirius and Hermione for being right,_ Harry thought, hoping none of his conflicting emotions showed on his face.

“It's not just that,” Harry said, unable to look directly at Malfoy, “I, er...it has to do with some very personal history that no one really knows about, and save the teachers, Sirius, and Hermione, and a few people have reacted...badly to the information.”

“Am I about to find out why your lollygagging ginger turned on you?” Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow.

“C'mon,” Harry said, ignoring his question as he tugged on his hand. “Let's find somewhere private so we can talk.”

Malfoy had a hopeful smile in place as he followed Harry's lead, while Harry did his best to ignore it as he led him out onto the grounds and under the same beech tree where he'd talked to Hermione. He cast the same secrecy charms around them, ignoring the now quizzical look his companion shot him, and he conjured a blanket for them to sit on while Harry worked. He joined him on it a moment later, not missing how Malfoy had deliberately made it smaller than necessary, and the size caused their thighs to brush together as they sat side-by-side upon it.

“So what's this all about? Have you joined some covert Ministry Death Squad or something?” Malfoy smirked when Harry snorted at his comment, just barely managing to hold back a hysterical giggle.

“No, nothing like that. It's just really private information and I don't want it getting out, but I...I don't dislike you, which is weird when you consider our history...but, if we're to go forward with this there's some things you need to know, things about me,” Harry said, feeling a flush begin to creep up his neck as Malfoy pressed a hand against the small of his back, clearly in what he thought was a comforting gesture.

“I...” Harry paused again and raked his fingers nervously through his hair. “I was born...er... _differently_ than other m-men,” Harry silently cursed his stammer, and as he stared resolutely ahead at the lake, he saw Draco's brow knit together in confusion in his peripheral vision.

“Different like...some sort of birth defect?” he asked, and Harry almost laughed. That certainly was _one_ way of putting it.

“Er—something like that. I—I...” he trailed off again. Like with Hermione, he found that he couldn't bring himself to actually say the words. _This is ridiculous,_ Harry thought, _I'm supposed to be in Gryffindor, when did I become such a bloody coward?_

Instead of growing impatient with Harry's feeble stammers, Draco trailed his hand up his spine, curled it around the back of his neck, and coaxed Harry's head to turn. He captured Harry's lips in a gentle kiss, and pulled back to smile at his companion.

“Whatever it is,” Draco murmured softly, “I liked you before, and I'll like you after; I promise.”

Harry seriously doubted this, but he smiled and nodded in gratitude all the same, and took a deep breath to steady himself, then opted for the blurting-it-out method.

“I was born female. I'm transgender.”

It became clear at once that whatever Draco had been expecting, it wasn't that. The silence hung heavily between them, and Harry extricated his hand from the blond's and curled both into tight fists in an effort to conceal his trembling.

“As in...you were born with...er, different...bits?” Draco asked, wincing before Harry could react, making it clear he was trying to speak delicately, but it was obvious that this wasn't something he had encountered before. Draco had at least not reacted in anger, for which Harry was grateful. Turning away from him, Harry nodded meekly. His heart was pounding so hard and fast in his chest, Harry was amazed that he wasn't vibrating on the spot from it. He kept his eyes fixed on his lap, and blinked a few times in surprise as Draco's hand slipped into his and offered it a small squeeze.

Harry looked up, and any question he had for his companion was silenced when he cupped his chin with his free hand, and ghosted his lips across Harry's in a light kiss.

“You are still a man to me, whether you have a cock, a gnome, or...something else down there,” Draco murmured softly, and Harry laughed a little, grateful he hadn't voiced his actual genitalia. Things were always easier when he didn't have to acknowledge it.

This time, it was Harry who initiated the kiss, and a single tear dripped down his cheek, his relief and joy completely overwhelming him. Draco did not comment on it, but brushed it away with his thumb as he kissed Harry back.

 They lay down side by side, and Harry was content in the silence, but one question still burned in him.

“Why now? I mean, when did you...you know, figure out that you, er, liked me?” Harry felt his face grow warm as he spoke, and Draco chuckled, choosing to kiss Harry again instead of answering straightaway.

“I've known for ages,” he said at last, “but I didn't know how to say it. I mean, how do you make up for years of harassment and bullying to admit to that same person that you've been interested in them all this time?”

“So you chose the 'be a pestering pain in the arse until Harry caves' method?” Harry asked, grinning a little as he spoke, and Draco merely smirked. That was answer enough, and Harry choked out a slightly hysterical laugh.

“Well, it worked didn't it? Besides, you've been into me for ages, you just didn't know it,” Draco said, his voice regaining its confident drawl, and Harry laughed again.

“That's what Hermione said, but I think it's just as likely one of you slipped me a love potion,” Harry said, watching as Draco's hand trailed down his side and paused at the bottom of his jumper. He tensed, but Draco did no more than casually drape an arm across his hips and draw Harry closer.

“It's possible, but using a love potion would be cheating, don't you think?” Draco asked as he rolled onto his back, and Harry pressed his cheek to his shoulder. It was strange to him how _comfortable_ he felt with his once-rival. They'd gone from being at each other's throats to cuddling under a net of secretive charms. It was weird, rushed, and confusing, but Harry had absolutely no desire to stop.

“For you, that's awfully...well, _noble,_ ” Harry said, and Draco chuckled softly.

“It's been known to happen.”

 

They whiled away the afternoon in comfortable silence, punctuated with gentle kisses, tentative touches, and snatches of conversation. Draco had steered clear of Harry's revelation, which both surprised and confused him in equal measure. The scant handful of people he'd told had been painfully curious about certain aspects of Harry's biological history that was _definitely_ none of their business, but with Draco...he'd said nothing. Harry was sure it was to come, but perhaps he was still working through his shock.

“Pott—Harry,” Draco amended, drawing Harry's attention from his thoughts and to his...boyfriend? The word sounded strange in his head. Harry wasn't sure if it was too soon to call him that, having never been in a relationship before, but he didn't know what else to refer to Draco as, after spending most of the afternoon with him.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, swallowing thickly when he saw the troubled look on his face. Was Draco about to admit that he couldn't handle dating someone like Harry, and was about to take off? He braced himself for the emotional blow.

“You should know, I've never been with someone—er, like you before. If there is something that I say or do that distresses you, please tell me so I don't screw this up as we go forward. I've hurt you enough over the last seven years, I don't want to add any more trauma to the...trauma.” He winced at the phrasing, and Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss him gently instead of answering straightaway.

“Believe me, you'll know,” Harry murmured, “should I give you a list of trans do's and don't's or something?”

“That might help,” Draco said, and pulled himself up into a sitting position, much to Harry's disappointment. He cocked his head to the side, and waited for Harry to speak.

“You mean right now?”

“No, on Tuesday,” Draco replied sarcastically, “yes now.”

Harry laughed again, aware that he hadn't felt this light and happy in a very long time. He racked his brains for what to say. Given that he could count the people he'd come out to on one hand, he'd never had to worry about people (save perhaps Hermione) asking awkward questions before.

“Erm, well, I mean, there's no one way to be trans, some people are totally comfortable with certain parts of their bodies, and some hate their...parts so much that they're a big mess. I sort of fall into the latter category.” Harry paused, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought, and tried to ignore the sad, sympathetic look that crossed Draco's face. It was an extremely strange expression to see on someone who was normally so aloof.

“The golden rules are mostly...use the person's preferred pronouns always—he, in my case—never ever call them by or ask about their birth name, and unless you're intimately involved with the person, what they have between their legs is absolutely none of your business,” Harry paused again, “I mean, I've met some people like me who totally accept the genitalia they were born with, and have no desire to adjust them to match their gender identity, but others can't deal with it; it's a really touchy subject. I'd say unless they bring it up, the best course of action is not to ask.”

“And for you, what do you feel comfortable talking about?” Draco asked softly, reaching out to thread the fingers of his left hand with Harry's. He felt his face colour in response to Draco's question, and he was silent for several minutes as he thought how best to phrase it.

“I've never...I mean, I've never been involved with anyone because I couldn't deal with my...er, stuff. I still kind of can't look at myself when I'm showering or whatever. It'll be a learning curve for both of us. I mean when I told Hermione she asked me a lot of really inappropriate questions, but it's sort of...different with you, since you're...I dunno.” Harry trailed off, unable to say the word _boyfriend._ What if he was reading too much into it, and Draco didn't think of him like that? He didn't want to muck it up that quickly. He liked how Draco made him feel, and he didn't want it to be over yet.

Draco watched Harry in silence after he'd stopped speaking, absorbing the information he'd been told, and processing it. Instead of offering up a verbal response, he leaned in and kissed Harry again.

This wasn't like their earlier kisses, chaste, sweet, and brief. This was slow and languid, he coaxing Harry's inexperienced mouth open with his tongue, and tasting him so thoroughly that it left Harry feeling like he'd been reduced to a pile of jelly.

“Don't feel obligated to tell me anything just because we're involved,” Draco murmured, looking at him so intensely that Harry felt his breath catch. “You're allowed to have your privacy, and it's not like we need to jump into bed tomorrow.” Harry felt the flush rise in his cheeks at the implication, closely followed by a cold, nervous sweat. Draco stroked Harry's cheek with his thumb as he continued, “I want you, I think you're hot, and brave, and stupid. But I'm not such a prat that I'd try to pressure you into going to bed with me sooner than you'd feel ready for. I mean, I can't say I have a lot of experience with someone who has...” Draco broke off and shook his head. “As I said, I think of you as a man, your anatomical differences from...er...I just mean either way, nothing could make me see you as a girl.”

Harry didn't know what to say. He had never expected Draco Malfoy of all people to be so... _accommodating_. He'd even shown more tact than Hermione had, and he found that he had absolutely no idea how to react. Instead of answering verbally, he leaned in and kissed him again.

“Who would've thought I'd find prince charming in Slytherin House,” he murmured against Draco's mouth, and the blond chuckled.

“Shut up.”

 

~*~

 

“Not a word,” Harry said the moment he'd climbed through the portrait hole feeling warm and flushed, and was immediately confronted by a very smug-looking Hermione.

“I don't have to say anything, it's written all over your face,” she said with a smile, “but I did come up with a nice 'I Was Right' dance that I can show you later.”

Harry snorted, and jerked his head in the direction of the Boys' Dormitory staircase, and she hastened to follow him up to his room.

“So?” Hermione prompted the moment Harry had closed the door behind her, “details. What happened? Did you tell him?”

“It was...” Harry paused when he felt his face grow warm, and he sat down heavily on the end of his bed, then flopped back. Hermione sat in the nearby desk chair, watching him while Harry tried to come up with the right way to express what he was feeling. “Weird. I mean, I kind of expected him to punch me and take off, but he didn't.”

“What did he do?”

“Mostly? We snogged,” Harry said, his attempt to keep the colour off his face failed spectacularly when Hermione grinned. “Not a word. He's an amazing kisser though, so there's that.”

“I told you so,” Hermione said with a warm smile, “Like I said, he's changed. For the good, as mad as that sounds,” she said, leaning forward against the back of the chair as she reached over to touch the back of his hand with hers. “I'm happy for you Harry, really I am. And er—this came for you while you were out.”

Flushing a little, she handed Harry a tightly wound scroll. When he broke the seal and unrolled it, he bit back a groan when he recognized Sirius's handwriting.

 

_Harry,_

 

_Hermione has informed me that you're seeing a young man by the name of Draco Malfoy. As your guardian, it is my sworn duty to embarrass the hell out of you in front of him. That said, I insist you and he join me for lunch at your next Hogsmeade weekend so I can meet him properly. Be warned that if you ignore this letter I'll just send your new boyfriend embarrassing baby pictures of you. You know I have quite the collection._

 

_Sirius_

 

Harry crumpled the letter in his hand and glared at his friend, who was finding the minute indentations in the wood of his desk chair incredibly fascinating all of a sudden.

“We haven't even been together twelve hours, why'd you go running to Sirius?” Harry demanded as he glared at Hermione, who flushed a little.

“Well I—I was excited for you, and I didn't really have anyone to share it with, so I thought I'd tell—”

“—Sirius,” Harry finished for her. She nodded meekly. Harry wanted to be cross with her, but something in the implication behind her words made him stop short. _I didn't really have anyone to share it with..._ Harry frowned sadly. It had completely skipped his notice that now Harry was more or less Hermione's only friend. Ginny hadn't spoken to either of them since Ron's expulsion, and Neville and Luna had both opted to not return after Hogwarts' reconstruction. Harry forced a small smile, though he felt an ache in his chest for her. “It's fine, I just wish you would've waited a bit.”

“I'll be more patient with your engagement announcement,” she replied with a grin, and Harry snorted.

“Yeah, right.”


	5. Unconditional Love

Chapter Five – Unconditional Love

 

“So let me get this straight,” Draco said, his hand swinging at his side, his fingers intertwined with Harry's. They passed by the edge of the lake closest to the forest as they grazed on the pasties that they'd swiped from the kitchens. “Even though your dogfather already knows me—we're cousins for Merlin's sake—he wants to have dinner with the two of us. Why, exactly?”

“ _Godfather_ , you arse,” Harry replied without any real venom in his tone. “It's a sort of rite of passage thing. When your child gets a boyfriend or girlfriend, it's customary among...er, _people_ to have them meet the parents, which for me is just Sirius. He's threatening to embarrass the hell out of me if we don't meet with him. I'll be embarrassed as hell anyway, but meeting with him is sort of the lesser of the two evils.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Draco was going to ask what Sirius had threatened him with; his eyes gleamed as he gazed at Harry. After a moment Draco seemed to deflate, and the question never made it past his lips. He gave Harry's hand a gentle tug, and pulled him in to a clumsy embrace. Harry grinned at him as he leaned in for a kiss.

“All right then,” Draco said when they'd parted, “if that's what you really want.”

“It's not,” Harry said with a chuckle, “but at least it won't be quite as embarrassing as dancing with Parvati at the Yule Ball.”

“I'm a much better dance partner anyway,” Draco purred, lifting Harry's hand and using it to twirl himself before he swept in for a chaste kiss, made slightly difficult by Harry's laughter.

“You're a little bit insane, do you know that?” Harry asked, and Draco merely smirked.

  

~*~

 

“Draco Malfoy,” Sirius said, clapping the blond on his shoulder, hard enough to jar him slightly. He exchanged a glance with Harry, then the pair looked back to the older man. “I must say this makes for a nice change, snogging my godson instead of trying to hex him, I mean.”

“Sirius!” Harry felt his face flush, and Draco was decidedly unhelpful, the hand intertwined with Harry's moving to his waist, as he chuckled.

“The payoff is better, certainly,” Draco replied smoothly, and Harry felt himself flush again.

“Come along you two crazy lovebirds,” Sirius said, motioning towards one of Hogsmeade's newer restaurants, _Aux Vivres,_ a restaurant that was slightly more posh than the Three Broomsticks. “I've got a private table reserved and we can get re-acquainted.”

Bracing himself for a couple of hours of near-constant embarrassment, Harry followed Sirius into the restaurant, and who spoke quietly to the hostess. She nodded at Sirius's words, and led them back into an area that wasn't exactly a private room, but private enough that they didn't need to worry about any sensitive information being overheard.

“Not bad Black,” Draco remarked as he settled into his seat alongside Harry in the circular booth, and a bottle of elf-made wine materialized upon the table between them.

“Call me Sirius,” Sirius said with a faint smirk, opening the bottle manually with an ordinary corkscrew and set it back down to aerate for a few minutes. He sipped at his water goblet before he continued. “We're practically family.”

“Well technically, aren't you?” Harry asked with a cocked eyebrow, “like third cousins twice removed or something?”

Sirius scowled at Harry, who grinned in response.

“Second cousins, actually, but only by blood since dear Auntie Walburga disinherited him.”

“You're one to talk,” Harry said with a snicker, remembering their conversation from a few days earlier. Draco's cheeks tinted a faint pink, but despite his nonchalance it was clear that it was still a sore subject for him. Harry quickly scrambled to find another topic to fill the silence. “Er, Sirius, have you heard anything from Mrs Weasley, about Ron, I mean?”

Under the table, Draco's hand found his, and he offered it a gentle squeeze. Harry returned it readily, as he felt a warmth pool in the pit of his stomach at the sensation.

“Nothing for a while,” he said with a shrug, and picked up the wine bottle to fill each of their glasses in turn. “Last I heard he's under house arrest, and she's furious. She wanted to write you and extend her apologies for what happened, but I don't how you'd feel about that, so I asked her not to.”

“I wonder if she'd say the same if she knew _why_ Ron turned on me,” Harry mumbled sullenly, immediately regretting bringing it up at all.

“She would,” Sirius said at once, “I _know_ she would, Harry. Molly isn't one to be so closed-minded. Who the hell knows where Ron got it from.” Sirius took a sip of his wine, his expression deepening into a frown.

“Percy maybe,” Harry said, sipping his own wine and while he squeezed Draco's hand a little more tightly. “He's always been kind of known as the uptight one, but I thought he'd gotten better after—after everything.” Harry's voice dropped to a whisper and his throat tightened. The image of Fred's sightless eyes and Percy clinging to him was still seared into his mind, and even almost a year later, it was still difficult to remember that he was gone.

“Who knows,” Sirius replied with a shrug, his even tone telling Harry that he was keen to get away from the depressing subject.

“Now Draco,” he said, turning his attention to Harry's companion. “Harry has told me that you've been working on improving the Malfoy name by donating a good portion of your gold to the Albus Dumbledore House. Philanthropy aside, do you have any plans after you finish Hogwarts?”

Harry stared at Sirius in surprise. Of all the questions he'd expected his godfather to ask Draco, that certainly hadn't been high on the list. It was so... _parental._ It was strange to see from someone like Sirius. Draco too seemed a little thrown by the question, and he paused for a long moment before he answered.

“I haven't thought about it in the sense of a fully fleshed-out plan,” Draco began, pausing when their hors d'oeuvres platter appeared between them. Harry helped himself to some sort of cheese and cucumber canapé while he listened. “I have a lot of work to do to show the general public that I'm not my father. With my school marks, I could do anything I like, but not many employers are scrambling to hire the son of a Death Eater. Putting my money towards good causes is my focus right now.”

Harry stared, but shook his head a little and busied himself with his wine in an effort to hide his shock, while Sirius and Draco continued chatting politely, punctuating their words with bites of the available appetizers. Sure, he'd heard Draco mention these kinds of things before, but he sounded so put together, so much more the adult, at least compared to Harry. He felt momentarily jealous that Draco had such a clear plan of his life after Hogwarts, while all Harry had been doing was stress over his Potions coursework to make sure he had the right marks to get into the Auror program. Beyond that, he had absolutely no idea what his life would be like, especially now that he wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder for Voldemort or his cronies.

“Sorry, what?” Harry shook his head, realizing too late that Draco had asked him a question. He felt himself flush with embarrassment for spacing out.

“I asked if you were finished with the canapé and were ready to order?” Draco asked, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice. Harry couldn't exactly blame him, he had a bad habit of spacing out with Draco, though it was never completely intentional.

“Er—yeah, sure. I'll just be right back,” Harry said in a jumbled rush, his face still a little red with embarrassment.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked with worry edging his words.

“I'm not taking off,” Harry replied with a faint smile, “nature calls.”

“Be careful,” Sirius said simply, and Harry exchanged a significant look with his godfather.

Harry nodded once, and figured Sirius would explain it to Draco in his absence. He slipped out of the booth and towards the bathrooms, and stopped in front of the gendered bathroom doors. He took a slow breath to steady himself before he slipped into the Men's Room.

“Please, please, please, please...” Harry whispered under his breath as he passed over the threshold, and sighed with relief when he found the room to be empty. He darted past the urinals to the solitary stall and did what he needed to do as quickly as possible, washed his hands and slipped out, just as an elderly man stepped in. No matter how many years he'd been using the Men's lavatory, it was always nerve-wracking for him. There was always that chance that someone would figure it out, and a violent reaction was always a very real possibility.

 

Harry sat down heavily next to Draco, who was eyeing him a little differently than he had when he'd left. His assumption that Sirius had explained their exchange in his absence was validated, and Harry offered Draco a faint smile as he turned to the menu that had appeared while he was gone, resting over an empty plate in front of him.

Just like the Yule Ball, they only needed to tell their plates what they wanted, and it appeared almost instantly. Harry tucked into his paella, and slowly the three of them fell into light conversation, that thankfully did not involve anything anywhere near as embarrassing as Harry had expected.

The topic of Harry's gender identity never came up, which surprised Harry, as he had half-expected Draco to question Sirius about it. He was thankful however that Draco's treatment of him never shifted to the point where he felt as though he was being regarded as a girl. Draco treated the same as he had when he'd first started pestering Harry towards the end of March, and such a small thing was deeply gratifying, especially after everything that had happened with Ron and Seamus.

Unfortunately, it was over individual, towering slices of Death by Chocolate that Draco's curiosity broke, and he finally began to ask.

“So—er, Sirius, I've been wondering...” Draco began, twirling his dessert fork through the sauce on his plate, and Sirius exchanged a look with Harry. _Oh boy,_ Harry thought, _here we go._ “How did you know about—I mean, how did you know Harry was...what he was?”

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, appreciative of Draco's feeble attempt at asking while maintaining some level of political correctness, though he still wasn't keen to discuss it. That person was _dead_. He was Harry. _Just_ Harry.

“How any parent would know about their child,” Sirius said with a proud smile, “you just _know_. Harry's interest in certain things, questions Harry would ask, and of course Albus knew a tricky little charm to verify my suspicions.”

“What sort of questions?” Draco asked keenly, and Harry saw that familiar Marauders glint in Sirius's eye.

“Sirius don't you dare,” Harry said, already feeling his face grow warm.

“Be a good sport Harry, it's funny!” He grinned, and Harry shook his head with an annoyed glare.

“I was six! Seriously Sirius, don't you fuc—” Sirius flicked his wand at Harry, cutting his words off with a nonverbal Silencing Charm, and he turned to Draco. Harry let out a silent, mortified groan and buried his tomato-red face in his hands.

“He was six, as Harry said,” Sirius began with a wide grin, while Harry had a mad urge to simply crawl under the table completely. “And he toddled up to me one day after breakfast, and went,” Sirius paused and took on a high, childlike tone of voice, “'Sirius, when is my pee-pee gonna grow?' That was sort of the clincher, but he was just so _earnest_ about it. It was too cute.” Sirius flicked his wand at Harry and he felt the charm lift.

“Stop telling people who know about me that story,” Harry said, glaring a little at his godfather, “the more people _you_ tell, the more people _I_ have to kill.”

“Don't be embarrassed,” Draco said, taking Harry's hand with a small smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he was trying his best to keep from laughing. “It's an honest question, and picturing a six-year-old you asking that is pretty damn adorable.”

“Great,” Harry muttered sarcastically. He knew neither of them meant it to be demeaning, but it still felt that way. Thankfully Sirius did not seem to be planning to follow the story up with the time he found Harry tugging on himself, trying to make it grow. _That_ story Harry hoped would _never_ see the light of day.

“I just _knew_ ,” Sirius said soberly, giving his godson a small smile. “Like I knew that he would probably be gay once he figured himself out, I knew about this, too.”

“But—” Draco paused, and Harry caught the nervous look in his eyes, but he pushed forward, his tone halting and apprehensive, as if trying to make it clear that while he was curious, he wasn't trying to offend anyone. “But...if you'd stayed...er, how you were born, you'd just be...you know, _normal_. Why would you want to go through something like...like this if you could just be a straight...person?”

“Because that's not who I am,” Harry said patiently, though despite his best efforts his voice shook a little out of nerves, and Draco's expression immediately shifted from curious to apologetic. “I'm a gay man, not a straight...” Harry's voice caught, and he took a steadying breath before he forced himself to push forward. “Not a straight w-woman. Anyway, the Mind Healer I'm assigned to told me that there's a lot of people like me who if they identified as gay or a lesbian pre-transition, their same sex tendencies stayed with them, though their interest changed when they did transition. So like, a trans woman who was interested in men before she came to terms with who she really was, will be interested in women after she's begun her transition. It's a same-sex attraction, not a gender-specific attraction.”

Draco fell silent and nodded meekly, the look on his face telling Harry that he was trying to process what he was being told. Shockingly, he did not feel offended by the question. He was nervous, yes, but this was the first time he could recall not feeling anger pair with his anxiety. This wasn't the first time someone had asked him such a thing, but it _was_ the first time he didn't bite the questioner's head off for asking it.

They eased back into safe subjects; school, Quidditch, the latest _scandalous_ article in _Witch Weekly_ detailing his new romance with the Malfoy heir, and anything else that came to mind. As they stepped out of the restaurant half an hour later, Sirius hung back a little, letting Draco go on ahead, and he pulled Harry aside and threw an arm over his shoulders in a casual half-hug.

“I'm proud of you,” Sirius muttered under his breath so that Draco wouldn't overhear.

“What for?” Harry asked, brow furrowing a little in confusion.

“For being so matter-of-fact when Draco asked those questions. Even three months ago you would've jumped down his throat for daring to ask. It's good. You should feel proud of yourself. It's a good step forward, and your Mind Healer will be _thrilled._ ”

“Yippee,” Harry muttered sarcastically, and Sirius snorted, letting him go so that he could catch up with Draco. Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was as big a deal as Sirius was making it out to be. Draco was his _boyfriend_ , after all (though the word was still a bit of a foreign concept to him) didn't he have a right to know some of these things?

Harry shook himself out of his daze to keep Draco from thinking that Harry was ignoring him, and they made small talk with Sirius as he escorted them back to the castle.

The moment Sirius left, Draco pulled Harry close, cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him. Harry was startled at first, but he was never one to protest to Draco's exceptional kisses, and he wrapped his arms around the blond's waist, pulling him close and returning the kiss with just as much enthusiasm.

“What was that for?” Harry asked when they broke apart, their fingers twining together as they slowly made their way from the gates and up to the castle.

“For not getting too upset at my...questions. I saw your face when I asked. You looked like you wanted to kill me for a second,” Draco steered Harry from the castle doors and towards the lake. It was still early, and dinner wasn't for a couple of hours. Harry figured he could fill Hermione in on what happened later. “It just a lot more complex than...flipping a coin, if that makes sense. I really didn't know, or I didn't really think about all that...social stuff that comes with it.”

“It's not for the faint of heart, that's for sure,” Harry answered, plopping down onto the grass under his favourite beech tree, while Draco joined him more slowly, and Harry gave his hand a sharp tug, making him fall in the grass next to Harry. Draco glared at him, but was quick to go back to what they had been discussing.

“Sort of makes me admire you more,” Draco said, laying back against the grass, and Harry mirrored his movements, stretching out alongside him.

“How so?”

“Well, you're just so brave for going through with all that,” Draco said, his eyes wide and his tone earnest. Harry frowned.

“I'm not,” Harry said without missing a beat, “It's not bravery, or nerve or whatever else that made me want to go through with it. It's something I _had_ to do. It wasn't optional, or elective, it's something I needed. How insomniacs need sleeping potion, or people with depression or post-traumatic stress need a draught of tranquility...this was something I needed to do to be healthy, be sane, feel normal. If I hadn't, I probably would have been dead a long time ago, and Voldemort would still be ruling the world.” Draco's eyes widened with shock.

“Dead? Why?”

“I would have killed myself,” Harry said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone. He caught the horrified look on Draco's face that his words had caused, and he quickly elaborated.

“Being...like this, it's all-encompassing. It affects literally every single aspect of my life. Sex, how people treat me, how people _see_ me, gendered facilities, my expectations, both for myself and what people expect _of_ me. It's a lot of things. I couldn't live like that. Even when I was little I knew I couldn't live like that. Because Sirius had cottoned on so quickly, I didn't have to go through the shit a lot of people in my situation go through. He just knew it and accepted it straightaway. A lot of people lose their family, or spend years trying to correct their family's name and pronoun use before it actually sinks in. I was lucky. _Extremely_ lucky.”

Harry rolled onto his back as he spoke and watched the dappled late afternoon sunlight dance across the surface of the lake. He jumped a little when he felt an arm drape across his middle, and the warmth of Draco's body pressed up against his side. Harry turned his head, his lips parted as he moved to ask Draco what he was doing, but the question was cut off by a warm, wet kiss.

Eyes fluttering shut, Harry reached up and pressed his hand against Draco's smooth cheek, his thumb tracing along the line of his jaw as he moved to deepen the kiss, albeit somewhat awkwardly. Harry felt his cheeks grow warm, embarrassed by his lack of experience, but his partner didn't seem to mind, guiding Harry and letting him lead in equal measure.

They passed the remainder of the afternoon under the tree, alternating between light chitchat and snogging, and blissfully ignoring the few classmates that stopped dead in their tracks to stare openly at them. In these moments, Draco would smirk and murmur, “Come on Potter, let's give them a show,” before dropping his hand to Harry's buttocks to give it a satisfying squeeze.

“Not bloody likely,” Harry replied each time with a laugh, and reached down to move Draco's hand above the waist. He was rather proud that he managed to keep his voice from shaking, as the prospect of anything sexual still unnerved him, but compared how he had been even a week ago, there was a huge difference in his anxiety levels. _How strange is it that_ Draco Malfoy _of all people happened to be the one to keep me grounded and sane,_ Harry thought, smiling as he shifted closer to his partner and distracted him from his disappointment with another kiss.

At dinnertime they reluctantly separated to their respective House tables, their classmates not at all subtle about reacting to the news that Harry Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World Potter and Draco Malfoy were seeing one another. Harry bowed his head and tried to ignore the hissing whispers that followed him, and the way more than a few of his classmates craned their necks or even stood up to get a good look at him.

“Don't people have anything better to do than gossip about my love life?” Harry muttered to Hermione as he sat down next to her and began to pile his plate high with potatoes and roast beef.

“Obviously who you're snogging is much more interesting than revising for exams,” Hermione replied with a shrug, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her pointed hint. It was barely the start of April, he had enough going on without her nagging him to start revising for his N.E.W.T.s too. “Anyway, how'd it go? With Sirius, I mean?”

“He was amazingly well-behaved,” Harry said at once, his mouth tugging into a grin at the surprised look on Hermione's face. “He acted like a proper adult and everything.”

“That's a rare occurrence,” Hermione mused, while Harry snorted a laugh.

“You're telling me. He broke down only _once_ with an embarrassing kid story, I think that's a new record for him.”

“He does seem to enjoy trying to embarrass you as much as he possibly can,” she said with a giggle, and Harry nodded his agreement.

Following dinner, Harry and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione grabbed her bag from the Girls' Dormitory and they headed up to his room; they could just as easily have done their homework in the common room, but since their conversations of late had a tendency to veer towards some very private things in Harry's personal life, they thought it best that they weren't overheard.

“Erm, Harry...” Hermione began when he'd closed the door. He turned to her, and watched her pull something out of her pocket, wrapped in a thin scarf. He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting her to continue. “This came for you while you were out, I wanted to bring it straight to Professor McGonagall, but, ah, after the last time I did that, I thought maybe it'd be best if I show you first.”

“Drop the cryptic Hermione,” Harry said with a frown, “what is it?”

“It's...it's from Ron,” she said, and Harry felt his stomach twist nervously. She unwrapped it a little to show that it was a simple envelope, but when Harry reached out to take it, her hand lurched back.

“ _Don't_ touch it. It's cursed.”

“How d'you know?” Harry's voice sounded hollow in his own ears, his hand curling into a fist and dropped it to his side.

“I saw the owl was looking for you, and I told it that I'd take it to you, and it dropped the letter on the table in front of me. I saw that it was Ron's handwriting and I used a few simple curse-detector spells to check it, and Harry if you had been in the Great Hall, or Library, or even the common room and you touched this...” Hermione trailed off for a moment, looking absolutely distraught. Harry could only imagine that it had to hurt that someone she'd loved so deeply was now the one doing this. “The curse is designed like a variation of Veritaserum. It'll make you want to divulge your deepest secrets to anyone nearby. Within a few hours everyone would have known about you.”

“I can't believe this is the same Ron,” Harry said hoarsely, sitting down heavily on the end of his bed. “He...he was never like this before.”

“I know Harry,” Hermione said softly, re-wrapping the letter and stowing it carefully back in her bag. “Prejudice makes people do _awful_ things.”

“I don't wanna tell McGonagall,” Harry said, turning to his own bag and fishing out his homework. Though it pained him to do homework on a _Saturday_ , it would at least keep his mind off things he'd rather not think about. “If we ignore it, maybe Ron will just give up.”

“I don't know Harry,” Hermione said uncertainly while she frowned at him, “these things can get out of hand really quickly...”

“I know Hermione,” Harry muttered, still not looking at her, “but I don't want to go running to McGonagall every time something like this happens. I don't want Ron to think I'm weak. I'm _not_.”

“No one would ever think you weak Harry, it's being practical,” Hermione said, her voice pleading, “Ron's not gonna stop until someone _makes_ him stop. Obviously being expelled hasn't got through to him, maybe reporting it to—”

“—No,” Harry said, cutting her off. “I'm not bringing this within a hundred miles of the Ministry. They'd want to know everything and if this somehow gets out...” Harry shook his head in an effort to dispel the anxiety that pooled in his stomach, “No. I can't.”

For a moment it looked as though Hermione was going to argue, but then her face fell, and she began to pull out her own work, and they descended into silence.

 

Later that evening after Hermione had left him to go to bed and he'd performed his usual nighttime rituals, he was jarred from his thoughts of his ex-best friend by a soft tapping against his window. When he didn't respond straightaway, the soft tapping sounded again.

Confused, Harry pulled a jumper on over his bandaged chest and padded over to the window. Looking out of it, he blinked hard and shook his head to ensure that he wasn't having some wild hallucination, as he saw Draco perched on his Nimbus 2001, hovering just outside his window. He lifted a hand and fingered a wave at Harry, and he quickly unlatched the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry hissed at him, but the blond merely smirked confidently.

“I wanted to see you, and locating your window seemed a better bet than trying to force my way through that damn portrait of yours,” Draco said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Harry snorted, and stepped aside so that he could climb in. Draco moved forward, but hesitated at the last moment.

“An alarm won't go off if I come in, will it?” He asked uncertainly, “I don't know what happens if someone from another house sneaks into...well, _another house_.”

“Nothing will happen,” Harry said, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the surprise written all over Draco's face at the absolute certainty in his voice.

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” Harry said with the same air of confidence, and held out a hand to him. “C'mon, let me help you.”

Somewhat haltingly, Draco extended a hand and allowed Harry to help him clamber inside. His eyes widened a little in surprise when his feet hit the floor and nothing happened. Harry snatched his wand off his night table and flicked his wand at the door. Draco's voice was fairly recognizable, and he had a feeling a snake being caught in a den of lions would play out very similarly to how it would on the Savannah.

The Silencing Charm in place, Harry turned back to Draco and kissed him once. He flicked his wand again, this time at the window to latch it shut, and broke the kiss after Draco had coiled an arm around his waist, holding him there.

“Not that I mind you coming to see me like this, but what's the _real_ reason you came up here?” Harry cocked an eyebrow, but Draco's confident smirk never faltered. He wasn't stupid; one didn't visit their significant other in their room just to 'see' them. Draco's ulterior motive was written all over his face, but Harry was worried he might be misreading the signals, as he was wont to do, and for the moment didn't call him out on it.

“Simply that.” Draco reached out to nip lightly at Harry's bottom lip. “I wanted to see you, and it's nice not having an audience, for once.”

“I don't—” Harry's protests were cut off by a gentle kiss, and he felt swept away by the sensation, reaching up to drape his arms over Draco's shoulders, and he tried to swallow his apprehension. The last thing he wanted was to come across as some blushing virgin to Draco, but at the same time, he knew for a fact that if Draco tried anything more than snog, he would definitely freak out.

It didn't take long for Draco's hands to begin wandering, slipping down over his pyjama-clad bottom and gave it a soft squeeze. Harry's breath hitched, and he broke the kiss abruptly.

“No, don't,” Harry mumbled, feeling himself go very red. Draco let go at once.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, lifting his hands up to Harry's shoulders, though Harry still couldn't look at him. He Even without looking up, he could hear the regret in Draco's tone. Harry could feel the heat pooling in his belly, but the prospect of anything more intense than kissing overlaid his budding arousal with a fresh wave of panic. Draco's lips brushed Harry's temple lightly, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the contact. “I know things are more...complicated for you. Whatever you want Harry. I've waited this long for you, I don't mind waiting a little longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm pretty sure I got the blood ties of Draco and Sirius right, if anyone thinks there's a mistake please let me know so I can fix it. Also, as far as I know, the Draught of Tranquility is something I made up and it popped up in one of my other completely unrelated fics as a potion to help people whose minds have been damaged by dark magic.


	6. Paralytic States

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much shorter than I intended, the next one will be longer, I promise! Also be warned that there's references to Mpreg in this chapter that may serve as a minor squick to some.

Chapter Six – Paralytic States

 

“Harry, it's so good to see you,” Healer Marion Lockley said, smiling warmly as Harry stepped from the hall and into her little office.

Harry liked the Mind Healer he'd been assigned to; Marion Lockley was not clinical and cold, but warm and genuine. She made him feel as though she genuinely cared for him, and he wasn't just another client. Marion was a petite woman, an inch or two shorter than Harry with a kind face and warm smile, her thick black curly hair pulled into a high bun, and she wore robes of a deeper shade of green than normal Healers, showing that she was part of the Mind Magic ward, and not the normal Medical wards.

“You too Marion,” he replied with a faint smile as he moved over to the small settee reserved for patients while she shut the door. He helped himself to a sweet from the dish laid out on the side table, and she charmed a scroll of parchment and quill to take notes during their session, leaving her to talk to him freely.

“Now,” she began, “when we saw each other last you were progressing nicely with your chest reconstruction, but I was still concerned about your extreme body dysphoria.” Harry frowned at her, though she ignored him. He didn't think his body dysphoria was _that_ bad. “I'm sure you know that it's much worse than it should be for someone at your stage in transition. How has everything been going, and how is that coming along?”

“I don't know where to start,” Harry said with a weak smile, “a lot's happened.”

“Bore me,” she said, her smile widening when Harry laughed a little.

Harry did. He started from the beginning, telling her of Ron and Seamus's discovery and their assault, of Draco's pushy flirtations, Harry coming out to Hermione, the trainwreck of a date, and Draco's easy acceptance of his 'situation'. He mentioned Sirius's insistence that he meet Draco properly, and finished off with Ron's cursed letter and Draco's attempt at intimacy, and the subsequent panic attack that closely followed.

“That _is_ a lot,” Marion said with a chuckle as Harry fell silent, and he answered with another faint smile. “I think first we must go back to your friends' negative reaction to your gender identity. I'm sure you know that you cannot hold yourself responsible for their actions. You have done nothing wrong Harry, it is _they_ who are wrong in rejecting you in such a violent matter. Have you considered reporting the assault to the Aurors?”

“People keep suggesting that, but I really don't want to,” Harry said, not looking at her, “I'd have to explain about myself to them, and what if they tell me it's my fault for drawing attention to myself? Or...what if it somehow gets out? I'd never get a moment's peace!” Harry paused and took a slow breath in an effort to calm himself down, though it did little to help. “I just...after everything, I just want to be left alone. I don't want to make a big deal out of this.”

“I understand that Harry,” Marion said patiently, “but as you know, these things will spiral out of control very quickly if they're not dealt with. You can bring them before the Wizengamot in seclusion, and no one need know that you're trans. Mr Weasley already sent you a cursed letter, it will not stop here. It will only get worse.”

Harry bowed his head and scratched at the knee of the faded jeans he wore. He'd already talked about this with Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall, Sirius, Hermione, _and_ Draco. He was so tired of discussing it.

“You don't need to make a decision right this moment Harry,” Marion said gently when Harry didn't answer straightaway. “Think about it, because things will only escalate from here if you don't make some kind of a stand.”

“All right, I'll think about it,” Harry said, his head bowed. The agreement meant that Marion would move on to other topics, though in his head Harry already knew his answer: _no way_.

“That's good to hear. Now...You have a boyfriend.” Marion's smile widened when Harry felt himself flush. “How is that going?”

“Remarkably well, all things considered,” Harry said with a faint smile, “I mean...it's weird because we spent so much time at each other's throats and now we're involved. But he's been amazing. I'm really surprised how well he's taken everything, considering only a few years ago he was a huge...bigot.” A number of other colourful nicknames for Draco were perched on the tip of his tongue, but he'd always tried to keep his vocabulary clean when he visited with his Mind Healer.

“Opposites attract, as they say,” she said with a faint smile, then jumped straight to the question Harry _really_ didn't want to hear. “Have you two had sex yet?”

“Uhm, no,” Harry said, looking away uncomfortably, “I still have trouble with my, um, stuff, so we haven't gone very far. We haven't been seeing each other for very long either, so that's a factor.”

“Harry, we've talked about avoidance. Do you remember that muggle mantra I taught you?”

“ _God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference_ ,” Harry rattled off at once, “yeah, I remember.”

“Then name it for me, if you would be so kind,” Marion said, her tone telling him that there was no room for argument.

“My... _vagina_ ,” Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, and he felt slightly ill. “I—I just...it's not _right_ ,” Harry felt his voice crack, and he pressed the thumb and pointer finger of his right hand against his tear ducts, bowing his head forward a little.

“Because you have a vagina makes you no less of a man Harry,” Marion said gently, repeating what she'd told him easily half a dozen times during their past sessions. “Because you can get _pregnant_ makes you no less of a man. In the wizarding world it is not an uncommon occurrence for even a cisgendered man to get pregnant—there are many potions and procedures available for homosexual couples who want a child but do not wish to adopt or use a surrogate mother. If you were to decide to utilize your reproductive organs, no one would bat an eyelash.”

“I—I know that,” Harry said, his gaze fixed upon his knees, “It just...feels wrong.”

“And that's what we need to work on,” Marion said, smiling faintly. “You told me quite early on that you had no desire to pursue SRS, given the options available in the wizarding and muggle worlds.”

Harry grimaced as his mind went to them at her words, and he felt a small stab of jealousy. All the available potions and charms that could give him the genitalia he so desired were temporary, and he would be stuck taking yet another potion for the rest of his life. Even then, the results were never as good as its natural counterparts. The muggle route was unthinkable. The two surgeries available were incredibly expensive and incredibly risky, and the results were not good enough nor safe enough for Harry to even contemplate it, at least for the moment.

“There is no rush for it,” Marion continued, “but when you feel ready, perhaps ask your boyfriend to help you work through your reluctance to acknowledge your body.” Harry went beet red, but Marion pressed on as though she hadn't noticed. “In the meantime, I want you to practice calling your vagina your vagina and not _my stuff_.” Marion's firm tone left no room for argument. “If you wish to use slang that's fine, but Harry, the medical fields of transitioning—both magical and muggle—can only take you so far. You will be miserable if you cannot get past this hump in your dysphoria, and I do believe that having a boyfriend will be _very_ good for helping you to work through that.”

  

~*~

 

An hour later, Harry wandered out of his session feeling as though he'd run a marathon. He was drained, and all Harry wanted to do was sleep. This wasn't uncommon for him following one of his sessions, but this one felt particularly bad. Harry hated it when Marion got on him about his stuff. What was the big deal if he didn't look at it, or think about it, or even touch it unless he absolutely had to?

“Good session?” Sirius asked as Harry stepped outside, and he shrugged a little.

“I guess, she brought up a lot of things I didn't really wanna talk about,” Harry mumbled as they turned and headed down the hall and towards the lobby.

“Like what, or d'you not wanna discuss it?”

“They're supposed to confidential sessions Sirius,” Harry reminded him, and Sirius offered him an apologetic smile before he fell silent. This wasn't the first time Sirius had asked him, and Harry doubted that it would be the last. He knew that he was only asking out of concern, but it was still none of his business. Harry usually wound up telling him everything anyway, but out in the open like this he had no desire to discuss what they'd talked about, much less discuss _his stuff_ in public.

 

The pair stopped at a muggle burger bar, as they always did following one of his meetings with his Mind Healer, and hidden away from the other patrons over plates of greasy chips and bacon cheeseburgers, Harry felt that he'd calmed down enough to talk about what they'd discussed in his meeting.

“I told Marion about everything about Ron and Seamus and then with Draco...” Harry began, punctuating his words with a huge bite of his burger, “but all she wanted to talk about was Draco and sex and...and...” Harry felt his face burn. He _couldn't_ say it. He took a few shaking breaths, and tried again.

“She wants me to start, um, owning my body, I guess,” Harry mumbled, keeping his voice low, but the thought of what he'd been asked to do made him feel sick.

“She wants you to start acknowledging that you have a va—” Sirius broke off, and tried again, “she wants you to acknowledge your genitalia, is that it?” Harry nodded silently, staring resolutely down at his food. He suddenly didn't feel very hungry.

“Harry,” Sirius said softly, but Harry continued to stare at his plate, and crammed a vinegar-drenched chip into his mouth. “Harry, look at me, please?”

Harry looked up at Sirius, and his misery must have shown quite plainly upon his face, as any words of encouragement Sirius had been working up to seemed to die in his throat.

“She even said that it's okay for men to get pregnant,” Harry mumbled, looking back down at his plate. “It's _not_ though. I've never even heard of, much less _seen_ a pregnant man.” He grabbed his soft drink and chewed absently on the straw between small sips.

“I was,” Sirius said, just softly enough for Harry to hear. Harry choked on his soft drink and looked up to stare at his godfather.

“ _What?_ ” Harry whispered back, and Sirius smiled a little sadly.

“It was just after you were born,” Sirius said, smiling, though there was a heavy sadness in his voice. “After seeing you, I wanted one. At those times with Voldemort at large, the time we had was precious, and many couples married and had kids young. I talked it over with...well, with Remus.” Harry's eyes bulged, though Sirius ignored his reaction a he pressed on. “We went through the procedures of dosing me up and finding a donor—Remus was afraid that werewolf...erm, _genes_ might turn me.” Sirius looked away from Harry and picked up his own drink, and continued to ignore the gobsmacked look on Harry's face from learning that his godfather and his ex-professor had been lovers.

“I lost the baby at twelve weeks,” Sirius said, his voice catching a little, “the fallout from that tore us apart. Eventually he had little Teddy with Tonks.” Sirius cleared his throat, smiling a little at Harry as he spoke in a more neutral tone of voice, “so you see, it not _that_ strange in the wizarding world for men to have the babies just as often as women do.”

“It just feels wrong to me, I mean...” Harry trailed off with a grimace, and again Sirius filled in the silence.

“No one is telling you how to use your body Harry,” he said gently, “all I'm saying is that it's not as cut and dry what you should or shouldn't do within your gender identity. Does that make sense?” Harry shrugged to Sirius's question, though he was still doubtful that there was anything _normal_ about a man getting knocked up.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Harry didn't know whether or not Sirius's words actually made any sense at all, his mind still stuck on _Sirius and Lupin dated,_ which he could picture much more easily than he would have liked to. This segued to a mental image of his godfather, heavy with child, and he shuddered involuntarily.

  

~*~

 

Harry got back to school early enough to make his afternoon lessons, which involved a mock N.E.W.T exam in Charms. It gave him a perfect excuse to avoid Hermione's invasive questions, for which he was grateful.

Despite Harry's ongoing mantra of, 'she doesn't mean to be insulting, asking questions is what Hermione _does,_ ' he still struggled to not be offended by her questions. There were only so many questions regarding his sex drive, whether or not he still got his period (or shark week, as he called it), and questions regarding clitoral growth he could take before he had to come up with more creative ways to tell her, _It's none of your business_. That, and he had a feeling that if he answered the latter question, he was fairly certain her follow-up question would likely be, 'can I see?'. After the morning he'd had, the last thing he wanted to do was explain to his over-inquisitive friend why he would not let her look at his genitals. Plus, the idea of Hermione looking at his stuff when he thought of her like a sister was just _weird_.

“Any sketchy post show up for me while I was out?” Harry asked conversationally as they gathered up their bags at the end of the period.

“Just this,” Hermione said with a grin, and she lifted up a tightly would scroll to show him. Harry recognized the neat handwriting on it at once, and he mirrored her expression and she handed over the note. Harry broke the seal and unrolled it quickly.

 

_Harry,_

 

_Meet me after dinner in the Entrance Hall._

 

_x_

_Draco_

 

“Why does he want to meet you?” Hermione asked curiously as she leant over Harry's shoulder to read the note.

“So we can practise our crochet skills, what do you think?” Harry asked as he cocked a brow at her, and laughed as she went rather pink.

“Well I didn't think he meant...” Harry said nothing to her comment, and only raised his eyebrows higher, and she shook her head, “I swear,” she said with an amused huff as they stepped into the hall, “gay or straight, cis or trans, you boys are all the same!”

“And what's _that_ supposed to mean?” He asked while he tried to not laugh.

“I mean sex, sex, sex, that's all you boys think about!” she said, and Harry shrugged noncommittally as they reached the Fat Lady.

“Philadelphus,” Harry said and the portrait swung forward. He slipped inside and waited for Hermione before he continued. “It's not sex if it's just snogging.”

“Still,” Hermione said with a sly smile. Harry did his best to return it, but after the sex talks he'd had with his Mind Healer and Sirius that day, sex was the _last_ thing on his mind.

They split up to drop off their bags, then picked up their conversation when they got back into the passageway.

“Seriously Harry,” Hermione said, “why does Draco want to meet you?”

“It's Date Night,” Harry said, choking back a laugh at the dubious look that crossed his friend's face. “He promised to take me somewhere nice.”

“Are you going to ever answer me seriously?” Hermione asked with an annoyed huff, and Harry grinned.

“No, probably not.” Despite the fact that he was telling the truth, the irritated reactions his obnoxious answers incited were too entertaining to dispel with a casual explanation.

  

Later that evening, Harry wandered out to the Entrance Hall, and found Draco leaning up against the wall near to the broom cupboard. His mouth stretched into an easy smile when he caught sight of Harry, and he pushed himself off the wall and strode over to him. Draco cradled Harry's cheek in his hand and Draco brushed his lips against Harry's lightly.

“Hey lover,” he purred against Harry's mouth, and it took a great deal of effort to swallow a laugh.

“Really struggling to meet your quota on cheesy nicknames, aren't you?” Harry asked, and Draco replied with a smirk. He reached down and took Harry's hand before he tugged him toward the doors.

“C'mon, it's a beautiful night,” Draco said by way of answer, and gave Harry's hand a second tug when he didn't immediately move.

Giving up, Harry followed Draco outside, and his breath caught at the sight of the full moon. His mind went back to Remus at once, and he felt a pull at his heart. Draco seemed to sense Harry's distress, and offered his hand a gentle squeeze.

Buoyed by Draco's presence, Harry followed his lead across the grounds and towards the Forbidden Forest. He fixed his gaze resolutely upon the approaching wood as he tried to keep his eyes from straying to the swell of the moon. The sight of it brought only guilt and bad memories to his mind, and Harry didn't want to be miserable when he was with Draco.

They bypassed the lake completely and Draco slipped into the trees. Harry opened his mouth to ask him where they were going, but his partner seemed to sense the question, and stopped it with a warm kiss.

“You'll see,” he murmured, and gave Harry's hand another gentle tug.

Draco did not take him very deep into the wood, and stopped when they reached a small clearing, completely invisible unless you were looking for it. The pair manoeuvred through the twisted branches and over the brier patches, their robes catching minutely on the thorns, as they went. Inside, the small clearing was bathed in moonlight, as warm as a summer night, and the forest floor had been adorned with a thick blanket and two steaming mugs sat under some kind of protective charm.

“What is this place?” Harry asked, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“My place,” Draco replied, untangling his hand from Harry's as he stepped behind him, wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, and perched his chin against his shoulder. “I found it in sixth year, a little place hidden away from the world, and for a short while I could pretend that my problems didn't exist. Now, I'm sharing it with you.”

Draco urged Harry forward, lifted the charm on the mugs. He handed one to Harry, then the pair sat on the blanket that had been laid out. He sipped on the hot cocoa he'd been given, and a smile came unbidden to Harry's face. After the emotionally draining day he'd had, this was nice—beyond nice. Harry leant against Draco's shoulder, and they watched the stars in companionable silence. With Draco at his side, and the warmth of the drink lifting his spirits, the sight of the moon did not pain him nearly as much as it had mere moments before.

 

The mug vanished the moment Harry finished, and he suspected it had gone back to the kitchens. Draco's had gone too, and in an instant he had his arm around Harry, pulling him in for a kiss.

Draco tasted sweet, of chocolate and sugar, and that indefinable thing that was simply _Draco_. Harry's hand moved to rest at Draco's back as he shifted closer, his lips parting as Draco's tongue darted out to taste him. Clumsily at first, Harry reciprocated, then as his confidence grew he responded with more enthusiasm.

They slowly eased down onto the blanket, sprawled out somewhere between side-by-side and in a tangle of limbs. Harry felt as though his brain and body had melted away, and he was left with nothing but blind sensation. This was beyond good; it was _wonderful_.

Draco's hand trailed down from Harry's shoulder to his hip, but stopped there and made no move to go further. In his blind haze of desire, his unease concerning his body did not leave him, but Draco's decision to stop instead of push forward kept from breaking the spell. Harry wasn't keen to tease Draco unintentionally however, and he reluctantly broke the kiss.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked softly, his hand shifting up Harry's side to rest against the side of his throat. Draco's thumb brushed over his adam's apple, and Harry took a moment to enjoy the sensation before he answered.

“Fine, I just...I don't want to get you worked up when I'm not ready to, y'know, go further,” he replied, but the explanation was met with a soft chuckle, and Draco leant in to brush his lips over Harry's softly.

“You needn't worry about that Harry,” Draco murmured, “being around you gets me worked up just fine. That doesn't mean I'm going to pester into something you're not ready for. I know you've got more baggage than most, so I'm taking a step back, so to speak. When you want to go further, we will.”

“How come I never noticed before how much of a cornball romantic you are?” Harry asked, grinning a little when Draco turned his head away to stifle an undignified snort of laughter.

“Probably because we were both too busy being at each other's throats constantly,” Draco said, and leant in to press a soft kiss to the side of Harry's neck, “though I do enjoy _this_ version of being at each other's throats much more, don't you agree?”

“And I find myself repeating: cornball romantic.”

“You love me and you know it,” Draco replied, and moved to kiss Harry again before he had a chance to answer. Harry shifted closer and returned the kiss, letting out a soft, contented sigh at the dizzying whirlwind of sensation the simple act caused. He allowed himself to be enveloped in Draco's arms, and for the first time in a very long time, Harry began to feel as though there was a brightness to his future. After Voldemort, after Ron and Seamus, after _everything,_ there was a brightness in his life that hadn't been there before. _Maybe,_ Harry thought, _maybe I'll get a normal life, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The 'muggle' surgeries Harry is referring to in this chapter are Phalloplasty and Metoidioplasty. While trans women are very lucky and SRS (Sex Reassignment Surgery) for them results in genitalia that looks and functions how it's supposed to (overall), trans men aren't as lucky. Phalloplasty is done by constructing a penis out of the existing nerves down there, and skin grafts from the back of the legs or the forearms, resulting in really, really bad scarring. Metoidioplasty is not as popular, and it's more or less a procedure to lengthen the existing genitalia. It looks more or less how it should, but you usually wind up with a much smaller than average penis. I know more than a few trans men who opt out of bottom surgery, because of the price tag (In my country it's 20$K for Phalloplasty) and because so much can go wrong.
> 
> 'Muggle mantra' is from the Christian Bible, Psalm 29:11.


	7. Piss and Vinegar

Chapter Seven – Piss and Vinegar

 

Harry had quite forgotten how quickly time could pass when you were happy, and as the weeks flew by and their N.E.W.T.s came upon them, Harry realized that he'd been with Draco for almost three months. It came to him as a something of a surprise, and he could not recall the last time he'd felt so content with his life. Save for the occasional cursed letter from Ron(which he always incinerated on the spot without even touching it), he felt as though things in his life were finally, _finally_ started going right.

Hermione was nothing short of a terror in the lead-up to the exams. Every break and after lessons finished for the day she would drag Harry (and by extension Draco) to the library and insist they revise. It would often devolve into Draco and Hermione competing to see who knew more about one subject or another, and it left Harry feeling both rather uneducated, and like he was watching a tennis match in Academia. Privately, he felt as though Draco might be more well-learned than Hermione, given that he could actually apply the knowledge, whereas she seemed like she'd just swallowed the textbook, and could only parrot the facts back at them. Harry didn't dare voice this observation however, as he didn't fancy running the risk of Hermione snapping under her N.E.W.T stress and hexing him.

Almost every night, Draco would sneak up to Gryffindor tower to see him. Harry was still very self-conscious about his body, but with Draco's help, it was slowly improving. The most significant improvement occurred a week earlier, following a particularly hard study session with their resident Fuehrer, Hermione.

“Harry?” Draco asked tentatively, he stretched out on the bed next to him with an arm draped casually across Harry's abdomen. His voice broke the sleepy silence, and Harry turned to meet his gaze.

“Hmm?”

“I was wondering...” Draco faltered, his cheeks glowing a faint pink, “er, I was wondering if I could...” he trailed off, and slid his hand slowly up Harry's chest, stopping just below the faint outline on his T-shirt where the bandage was. Harry knew he'd always been a little slow on the uptake at times, but the implication in this instance was clear.

“You want to see my chest?” Harry asked, surprise and nervousness jumbling in his mind as the realization of what Draco was asking hit him. He nodded.

“I mean, you don't have to show me if you're not comfortable with it, but, I was just curious,” he said in a rush, and the uncertainty in his expression was surprising for Harry to see. Draco was usually so calm and confident, and Harry found himself mildly shocked by both the question and the doubt in his voice that had followed.

Harry paused. Under normal circumstances, his knee-jerk reaction would be a vehement ' _hell no!_ '. But among other things, their very slow progression towards genuine intimacy (and Draco's apparently limitless patience with Harry's anxiety where his body was concerned) had made Harry _want_ him. He wanted to get to a point where he didn't dissolve into a panic if Draco's hand slipped below the waist, or when Harry felt the press of Draco's erection through his trousers.

“Um, all right,” Harry said, despite his wanting to do this, he could not help his nervousness. This was a very big deal for him.

Harry sat up slowly, and with slightly trembling hands he grabbed hold of the bottom of the garment and peeled it slowly over his head, being careful to not dislodge the bandage in the process. He tossed the shirt to the floor, and with his bottom lip caught between his teeth he turned to his boyfriend.

Harry was uncertain what to expect, but once he managed to jump over the hurdle of physically removing the garment, he felt much calmer than he expected he'd be. Draco sat up, and Harry shivered as one of his fair, angular hands ghosted over his exposed clavicle.

Draco leaned in and planted a soft kiss upon the hollow of Harry's throat, and his hand moved out and towards his shoulder, then trailed down the side of his ribs with gentle, careful movements. Harry arched his neck and closed his eyes, while he vaguely wondered _why_ he'd waited so long to do this. It was amazing; it was _wonderful_.

A soft kiss against his mouth brought him back to reality, and when they parted, Harry's eyes opened to see that while he'd been lost in his daze Draco had shed his top as well.

Harry stared, he couldn't not, and he reached out to touch Draco as tentatively as he'd touched Harry. He was thin and willowy, with the faintest muscle definition from his past career as Slytherin's seeker. He still carried some of his youthful baby fat, and there was very little chest hair, save for a trail of wiry blond hairs that disappeared into the top of his trousers.

What surprised Harry most however, was how similar Draco's chest was to his own. He felt a swell of emotion fill him, and Harry leant in close to kiss him; the skin-on-skin sensation as their chests brushed together was thrilling, and Harry no longer knew if his trembling was out of nerves or lust.

They lay back down, the momentary panic from Draco's simple request had exhausted him, and it was well past midnight before Draco kissed Harry one last time and snuck back out of the window.

 

~*~

 

As the exams came, a hush fell over the castle. When they were not taking the theoretical or practical exams, the fifth, seventh, and eighth years were locked away in their common rooms or the library, studying feverishly.

On Monday, they had their Potions exams, the practical in the morning, and the theoretical in the afternoon. Harry was thrilled by this, as he was able to get the one likely to give him the most trouble out of the way.

Tuesday they took their Charms exams, and on Wednesday Harry was able to study for Thursday and Friday's exams while Draco and Hermione sat their Arithmancy exams, and Hermione her Ancient Runes exam that afternoon.

It continued, so smoothly in fact that by their final exam (Astronomy the following Thursday night) Harry was amazed that there hadn't been even a hiccup in his routine of studying, exams, and rendezvous with Draco. It all felt so _normal_.

 _This was what it should have been like_ , Harry realized, as he lay with Draco under their beech tree the following afternoon, celebrating their freedom with more food from the kitchens and a bottle of sickly sweet ice wine, though Harry had no idea where it had from. _This is how it's supposed to feel, being a teenager._ He felt a momentary surge of anger at Voldemort for taking that from him, taking Teddy's parents from him, for it all. It was past, and Harry refused to dwell further on the madman that had tried so valiantly to destroy his life.

“What are you thinking about?”

Draco's voice drew him from his thoughts, and Harry leant up to kiss him, loving the mélange of chocolate and sweet wine that he could taste on his lips.

“Just how lucky I am.”

 

There was a bittersweetness Harry felt in packing up his trunk for the final time.

Harry had his robe slung over his arm, his books, quills, parchment, and clothes were dumped pell-mell into his trunk, and there was a tightness in his throat when he realized that there was no owl to coax down down from the owlery and into her cage. Harry tossed his robe over the rest of the items, and sat on it to force it to close. It was with a heavy heart that he dragged his trunk down the stairs and into the Gryffindor common room for the last time.

All the seventh and eighth years were tearful at the concept of leaving, and Harry even caught sight of Dean getting a little choked up as he talked with Parvati and Lavender, and offered Harry a muted smile, which he returned, despite all the drama surrounding what had happened with Seamus and Ron.

Slowly the group descended into the castle and to the carriages, and Draco was quick to join Harry and Hermione. What few friends Draco still had in Slytherin house were looking on with looks that seemed to border between disapproval and confusion, but not outright hatred.

Harry watched Hogwarts fade into the distance, and only turned back around when the castle was no longer visible. Harry felt a lump form in his throat, and smiled weakly when Draco pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“It's weird to think we won't be going back next September,” Hermione said, her eyes shifting to where Harry had been staring not a minute earlier.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “but we've still got our N.E.W.T results coming in July or August,” he furrowed his brow as he tried to recall when their O.W.L results had come in, but when he came up with nothing he shook his head a little. “We should just enjoy the summer, before whatever comes next...er, comes.”

“It should be soon,” Hermione said, chewing on the side of her lip, her expression shifting to a nervous look that Harry recognized at once.

“Why soon?” Harry asked, and cocked a brow when she didn't immediately answer.

“Well, I...I sort of have a lot to do this summer,” Hermione said, avoiding Harry's eye. “I'm going to Australia for a few weeks to try and find my parents and remove the Memory Charms if I can, and...and...” her voice dropped down to a whisper so soft Harry had to strain his ears to catch it, her face turning faintly pink. “I'm going to Bulgaria to visit Viktor.”

“Viktor? As in Viktor Krum?”

“How many Viktors do we know, Harry?” Hermione asked, her flush not even beginning to fade. “I'm still friends with him, and when I told him about Ron getting expelled—I told him nothing about you, don't worry—he, well, he invited me out there to visit him.”

Draco said nothing as he listened to them, but he did arch a suggestive brow at Hermione, causing her flush to deepen.

“As far as rebounds go, that's certainly a step up from _Weasley_ ,” Draco said with a smirk, and Hermione smiled weakly at him, though it looked rather strained to him. Harry had a feeling it had been meant as a compliment, but Harry was sure Ron's betrayal was hurting Hermione more than she was saying, and chose not to respond to Draco's remark.

“Well, you're invited to come over and watch Sirius try and poison us with his cooking experiments, or he'll make his famous Floo call to the takeaway place,” Harry said with a smile, which caused Hermione to giggle.

“Is Black—erm, Sirius really that bad a cook?” Draco asked curiously, and Harry snorted.

“It's lucky if he manages to keep from burning the building down,” Harry said, “I swear, the man could burn water if he really put his mind to it.”

“Remind me to stock up on antidotes before I come over,” Draco said, and both Harry and Hermione laughed.

“It wouldn't be a bad idea, actually.”

The strange but welcome camaraderie between the trio continued well onto the Hogwarts Express, Hermione sitting across from the couple, and the pair stealing a quiet moment together whenever Hermione slipped off to the bathroom or to track down the snacks trolley.

“It's weird,” Harry said thoughtfully as he gazed out the window at the darkening sky, Hermione off on another snack run. Draco's arms were wrapped around his upper arms as he watched the sunset with him.

“What's weird?” Draco asked, pulling back from the embrace enough for Harry to turn around and look at him.

“I mean,” Harry began, and paused as he tried to figure out how to best phrase it. “All this. Post-secondary plans, Hermione going to visit Krum, you and me...it's all so...so... _normal_.”

“It's weird because it's normal?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Have you _seen_ my life?” Harry asked with a laugh, and Draco chuckled softly.

“That's a fair point. Now that you have all this normalcy to look forward to, what do you want to do first?”

“Mostly? I want to kiss you,” Harry replied, and grinned when the statement was met with a soft chuckle. Draco cradled Harry's face in his hands, and their were a scant hairsbreadth apart when Hermione bustled back in.

“I had an idea—oh, was I interrupting? Don't let me stop you,” she said a smile, plopping down on the seat opposite with a stack of cauldron cakes in her hands. They broke apart with twin looks of longing, and accepted their share of the sweets she'd brought back with her.

“What was you idea Hermione?” Harry asked, then crammed one of the cakes in his mouth whole. Both his boyfriend and his best friend looked on with wrinkled noses, but Harry ignored the pointed looks in favour of focusing on his chewing so that he wouldn't choke.

“Well, I thought we could celebrate finishing Hogwarts, maybe go out to dinner in Diagon Alley or something.”

“Diagon Alley? How utterly _common_. If you wanted to celebrate, we could always go to Paris or a weekend in Rome or...what?” Draco paused, blinking in confusion at Harry and Hermione, who were both looking back at him as though he'd grown a second head.

“Your spoiled little rich boy upbringing is showing,” Harry replied with a chuckle, and reached forward to lace his fingers with Draco's. “Just because it's _common_ doesn't mean it can't still be special.”

“I'll just have to take your word for it,” Draco said, chuckling as he leant in to brush his lips against Harry's temple.

 

The rest of the journey back to King's Cross was uneventful, unless one counted Harry and Draco being caught snogging in the loo by Zacharias Smith, who seemed quite keen to watch them at it. Red-faced, Harry was quick to drag Draco back to their compartment. He didn't find the incident quite as funny as Draco did.

As they pulled up to the platform, Harry grinned when he picked out Sirius amidst the crowd of parents, Andromeda holding little Teddy at his side.

As Harry approached his godfather with Draco in tow and Hermione trailing behind, Teddy's shock of violet hair changed at once to a messy, inky black when he caught sight of Harry.

Laughing, he let go of Draco and his trunk to accept the tot.

“Hey Teddy,” he said, laughing when he reached up and made a grab for his glasses. “It's been a while, yeah?”

“A'wy!” He responded, then swivelled his gaze to Draco. “Wako!” He said, and reached his little chubby arms for his cousin.

The immediate recognition struck Harry as a little odd, and when he did not immediately react to Teddy's second verbalization, he made his desire more obvious when he screwed up his little face like he was gearing up to have the world's biggest temper tantrum (or bowel movement, it was a little difficult to tell) and with a soft _pop_ his hair changed to a sleek silvery blond.

“Wako!” He said again, and with a chuckle, Harry reluctantly handed his godson over. Draco smirked a little as he accepted his cousin from Harry, and bounced him a little in his arms as the toddler giggled delightedly. Harry watched them together, then something Draco had said a few months earlier came back to him, and the realization hit him like a brick to the face.

His shock must have shown on his face, because Draco exchanged an amused smile with Andromeda.

“You—he—I—I mean, _what_?” Harry sputtered, looking from his boyfriend to Andromeda and back again. Sirius laughed, but Draco had the good grace to not outwardly laugh at Harry's expense.

“Well he _is_ my nephew,” Andromeda replied with a smile, “what sort of auntie would I be if I turned my back on him when he'd finally come to his senses?”

“Wako!” Teddy piped up again, tugging on Draco's Slytherin tie a little too exuberantly, and Harry stepped in quickly to keep his godson from strangling his boyfriend. Draco smiled his thanks at Harry as he massaged his neck.

“Well, it does explain a lot,” he said with a laugh, “when were you planning on telling me?” Harry directed his question to the group, and Andromeda smiled warmly.

“Actually we wanted to see how long it would take you to work it out,” she replied, “Teddy spoiled the game, however.”

“Wius!” Teddy squeaked, his hair turning black again, but the sleek locks made it clear whose attention he wanted at that moment. Chuckling, the older man accepted Teddy from Draco.

“Well it's probably a good thing Teddy spoiled it,” Harry said with a smile, “I had no idea. I mean—I should've known, but...” he trailed off with a helpless shrug.

“The fact that you have the observation skills of a stack of hay is part of your charm, trust me,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Harry turned red while the others laughed at his expense. Teddy seemed ignorant to the conversation, delighting himself instead in tugging on a hank of Sirius's hair.

“Well, we best get going,” Sirius said, “Hermione, do you want to join us? Andromeda's cooking, I promise.”

“It's all right Sirius,” she said with a laugh, “I have some things to do at home, but I promise to stop by soon.”

Harry was a little disappointed that she couldn't come along, and there was something unsettling about the idea that she was returning to an empty house, but he swallowed his sympathy for her behind a neutral mask. He had a feeling that she wouldn't appreciate being pitied. Hugs were exchanged, and Hermione Disapparated, then Draco and Harry joined hands as Sirius produced a Portkey. They all reached for the tea cosy, and with the telltale pull behind the navel, they were off 

As they arrived outside the flat Harry shared with Sirius, he only managed to stay standing with Draco's help, and the others all landed on their feet. Teddy was fussing, clearly distressed by the trip, and his hair changed from black to a shock of pink and made Harry's heart constrict. Sirius quickly handed him to Andromeda, who rubbed his back and cooed at him, while his little fists rubbed at his teary eyes.

Draco tapped his trunk once, shrunk it to the size of a deck of muggle cards and pocketed it. Harry hefted his own trunk behind him while the pair followed the two adults inside, up four flights of stairs, and into the little flat.

By the time they got inside Teddy had calmed, his hair back to its usual violet while he peacefully sucked on his thumb.

The flat wasn't much, but it was home. A small, open-concept space, from their place at the door they could see into the kitchen, dining room, and sitting room with ease. To their left was a short hallway containing four more rooms, and Harry grinned at Draco as he gave his hand a small tug.

“C'mon,” he said, “I'll give you the grand tour.”

“Leave the door open Harry,” Sirius said without turning around, and Harry scowled at his godfather's back while he dragged his smirking boyfriend and his trunk down the narrow hall.

The flat was sparsely decorated, the hall they walked down adorned with a thin carpet and maroon wallpaper, the dark colours making it seem smaller than it actually was. Harry's bedroom was the second-to-last door on the right, and after opening it to allow Draco to step through, Harry followed him in and left the door open by a few millimetres to appease (or more likely annoy) Sirius.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Harry said with a grin as he hefted his trunk to stand next to his wardrobe, vowing to deal with it later.

The room was modestly sized, though likely was tiny from Draco's perspective. Painted a muted blue, with a twin bed, desk, night table and wardrobe. There was a Gryffindor flag pinned to the wall next to a photograph of his friends, and even at a distance Harry could see that Ron had walked out of the frame. Harry was amazed at how little this fact unsettled him.

“This is good...for you. Quaint,” Draco drawled, clearly trying to aim for his old aloof Malfoy demeanour, but the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth ruined the effect. Harry stepped over to him and draped his arms over Draco's shoulders while he leant in for a kiss.

“Just quaint?” Harry asked softly, and Draco chuckled as he pulled him in closer.

“Would you rather I say delightfully small?”

“That's basically the same thing, isn't it? I— _oh._ ” Harry's breath hitched and his words were cut short as Draco's mouth trailed its way across Harry's jaw and down the side of his neck. He tilted his head back to give the blond better access, and he could feel his hands at his hips jerk, as though he wanted to move his hands to a possibly more intimate area, but held back at the last moment. Harry was grateful; he wasn't keen on having an anxiety attack so soon after returning home from school. He had come a long way since they first began seeing each other a few months earlier, but they still had a ways to go before Harry was completely at ease both with his own body, and with Draco.

Draco coaxed Harry over to the edge of his bed, and they returned to safe snogging, both their hands well above the waist. Harry wanted to do more, a desire that had grown with every day that passed, but his own insecurities and lack of experience stopped him short. He hoped that Draco would be able to help him move past those feelings, as the both rather enjoyed those few exploratory evenings they'd shared, and he was looking forward to doing more.

The flip-flop of feelings towards the idea of intimacy with Draco was pushed to the back of his mind as their delightful snogging session was cut short by Sirius calling for them. With a faint groan, they stood, made sure that they looked at least somewhat presentable, and stepped out to join Sirius and Andromeda.

The dinner was blessedly edible thanks to Andromeda, and Sirius had taken to the task of trying to feed Teddy. Harry bit his tongue to keep from laughing, as he was sure half of Teddy's food had ended up _on_ Sirius, instead of actually ingested.

“Not a word Harry,” Sirius said as he smirked at him, while he mopped some green sludge off his cheek that could at one time have been peas. “One day, when you and Draco elope and adopt a couple dozen little poop machines, this will be you. Mark my words.”

“Not bloody likely,” Harry said with a snort, it changing to a full laugh when he realized that Draco had said the exact same thing at the exact same moment.

Teddy was much more agreeable with the chocolate gateau Andromeda had brought along, though he seemed more interested in squishing it to a pulp, rather than actually eating it. Harry had to assume that some of it had been eaten, as there was rather a lot of chocolate on Teddy's face as well as his hands.

“Well,” Andromeda said as they all nursed after-dinner cups of coffee and tea, “Sirius, would you mind terribly if we used the loo to get this little monster cleaned up before we head home?” She shot a significant look at Draco, and he frowned slightly. Harry shared his sentiment; it was still fairly early, he didn't want Draco to leave just yet.

“I think I might still have one of those baby baths hanging around, if you want,” Sirius said, and stepped down into their spare room, which was more or less a dumping ground for items Harry had grown out of through the years, but Sirius hadn't the heart to part with. Andromeda scooped Teddy up and followed Sirius out, while Harry and Draco relocated to the sitting room.

“So what do you think about taking Hermione up on that celebratory dinner in Diagon Alley thing?” Harry asked, their fingers tangling together while Harry listened to the background noise of running water, Teddy's squeals of delight, and the occasional half-curse of Sirius, which was usually preceded or followed by a loud splash.

“The idea has merit,” Draco said, “and considering Granger is off to God knows where soon, I'm sure it would thrill you to have dinner with her and me. I'll come on one condition.”

“What's the condition?” Harry asked, surprised by Draco's suddenly serious tone.

“You meet _my_ friends,” Draco said, his tone so close to defensive anger that Harry was momentarily caught off guard. Did Draco seriously think Harry would reject such a condition?

“Okay,” he said at once. When Draco's eyebrows raised in surprise, Harry couldn't help but laugh. “What, you thought I'd say _no_? You put up with Hermione, so it's only fair that I meet your friends, too.”

Draco's surprise shifted to relief, and a smile spread across his face. He cradled Harry's cheek with one hand, and leant in to kiss him gently, their kiss barely more than a brush of lips.

“I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

  

~*~

 

It was another week before they managed to organize the dinner with Hermione, and they decided to kill two birds with one stone, and Draco invited his friends to come along, which turned out to be Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass.

“Well, I suddenly feel outnumbered,” Harry muttered to Hermione, and she swatted his arm.

“Bit rich coming from you when you're _dating_ a Slytherin,” she replied just as softly.

The unlikely group say around a circular table in a slightly higher-end restaurant just off Diagon Alley called _Chez Merlin_ that Harry had never been to before.

It was quite posh, the kind of place you had to wear dress robes to in order to get in, and a medium-sized entrée probably cost as much as Harry's _Nimbus 2000_ had. All the tables were covered with white tablecloths, the lights dimmed for an intimate atmosphere, and the waiters and waitresses Apparated from table to table silently, clearly using some sort of adapted version of Apparition to keep from disturbing the diners' experience.

“I must say,” Blaise remarked over a glass of the complimentary wine that had been left on the table for them when they'd arrived, “it certainly makes for a peculiar sight, Draco Malfoy associating with—” his eyes fell on Hermione, and Harry levelled a glare with him, while Hermione visibly braced herself for the derogatory remark. Harry's _just try it_ look seemed to be enough however, and he amended his phrasing at the last moment. “—associating with Gryffindors. Much less holding hands with you,” he nodded at Harry, and he snorted softly.

“People change,” Harry said simply, determined to at least try to be civil for Draco's sake.

“Clearly,” Blaise replied, just as a platter of oysters on the half-shell materialized in the centre of the table.

The others all helped themselves to one, while Harry and Hermione hesitated. He'd never had oysters before, and he couldn't say that they looked exactly enticing.

“Are the two Gryffindors amongst us afraid to try something new?” Pansy sneered, and Draco elbowed her sharply with frown. It amazed Harry how little time it took for a jibe to be shot in their direction. He did not rise to her remark, and instead exchanged a look with Hermione. She nodded, and a little nervously, they both helped themselves to one.

Feeling very much like he was under a spotlight, Harry mimicked how Draco had downed his, tilting the flesh from the shell and into his mouth, and swallowed it whole.

Harry had not expected to like it, but the sweet flesh, the tang of lemon and the rush of sea water at the back of his throat he found was quite nice. Hermione did not seem to enjoy it nearly as much as he had, her face a little red as she sipped on her water, trying to maintain her dignity as much as she could. Pansy seemed satisfied, and ever so slowly the tense atmosphere calmed. Harry helped himself to a second oyster.

The appetizers faded away and were replaced with menus, and Harry balked at his to find that it was entirely in French.

“Need help?” Draco murmured, and Harry smiled gratefully. He saw Pansy's eyes flick to him when it became clear he didn't understand a word of it, but thankfully she kept her comments to herself.

Draco went through the menu with him, and Harry felt himself go red as Draco used it as an excuse to wrap an arm around his waist and hold him close while he went over it with him. Harry wasn't certain what was more distracting—the sound of Draco speaking perfect French, or the gentle weight of the arm around him.

Harry wound up selecting something called _veau en surprise_ , which turned out to be veal, and Draco some sort of seafood concoction swimming in a cheesy, creamy sauce.

“So now that our resident Chosen One has completed his Hogwarts education, what are your plans?” Blaise asked asked with an air of nonchalance, and Harry was reminded suddenly of that first dinner with Sirius and Draco. Were all people from these sorts of families so keen on what they had planned post-Hogwarts? His distinct lack of such a clear-cut plan was a little unnerving, especially when Draco and Hermione seemed to have their post-secondary plans marked down to the last detail.

“Erm, well, if I get enough N.E.W.T.s I plan to join the Aurors,” he said, feeling strangely uncomfortable as he spoke. Draco seemed to sense his nervousness, and rested a hand on his knee. “'Til then, I thought I'd just enjoy myself, play Quidditch, go out with my friends, stuff like that.”

“And you, Granger?” Blaise prompted, “You've always been rather ambitious, have you not?”

Harry was rather surprised at Blaise's tone. If he wasn't mistaken, it was almost complimentary. To the question however, Harry just barely managed to keep himself from laughing—as if Blaise did not know that Hermione was top of the year.

“I'll be spending my summer travelling,” she said simply, then paused to take a sip of wine, “when I get back I'll be joining the Barristers in Magical Law.”

“Travelling where?” Pansy asked keenly, and Hermione shrugged a little with a vague smile.

“A few different places.”

 

Despite a few hiccups at the beginning of the evening, Harry was amazed at how well it went. In particular, he was shocked at how well Hermione seemed to be getting on with Blaise, and found himself highly amused at the starry-eyed look he'd developed as the evening wore on, especially since Harry had always assumed that Blaise was gay. It had not escaped Hermione's notice either, and she looked rather pleased with herself. Daphne was the quietest of the four Slytherins, but ever so slowly engaged Hermione in a discussion about the Ancient Runes exam from nearly two weeks earlier, and Hermione appeared thrilled to have someone to discuss the past examination with.

After a round of sweet dessert wines and chocolate-raspberry tarts, the group slowly began to disperse. Harry and Draco were somewhat wrapped up in each other (both figuratively and literally) and only after Hermione had tapped Harry's shoulder and told him she needed to get home did Harry notice that they were the last ones at the table.

Flushing with embarrassment and muttering to her a quick apology, she paid her bill and left. Harry and Draco were quick to follow suit, but Harry didn't want to part from Draco's company just yet. Draco seemed to share this sentiment, and with their hands linked and swinging slightly at their sides, they wandered along the Alley, alternating between looking in the windows of the open-late shops and gazing up at the clear night sky, and Harry had to wonder if it was enchanted like the ceiling of the Great Hall, as he could see every star and the sliver of the moon with such clarity that it was somewhat surprising, given that usually in such big cities it was impossible to see the night sky so clearly.

“Well, that went better than I could have expected,” Draco mused after a few minutes of silence, and Harry couldn't help but laugh out loud.

“And did you see Zabini checking out Hermione? He must be horrified that he fancies a muggleborn.”

“You know, contrary to what you've been told, not _all_ Slytherins are bigoted arses,” Draco said, and Harry's walk slowed to a stop when he heard some genuine hurt in his voice. He turned to the blond, and leant in to kiss him.

“I'm learning that,” Harry murmured, “sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that.”

“It's forgotten,” Draco replied, and kissed him again, then tugged on Harry's hand to lead him down a more deserted side-street, but stopped short with a frown. Harry assumed that he thought he'd gone the wrong way, but when they turned, they found their way blocked by two bodies. Harry recognized them at once, and he felt his blood run cold.

“Hey Harry,” said Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The updates aren't coming as frequently because I'm working on 3 things at once, including my NaNoWriMo Fanfic project. So apologies, etc.


	8. Dead Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: **Warning** this chapter contains scenes of violence, implied sexual assault, and gender dysphoria triggers. This is the first sequence of events in this chapter, and if you'd rather not read it, scroll to the first page break to skip it.

Chapter Eight – Dead Friend

 

Harry took a nervous step back; the sight of Ron and Seamus filled him with such acute fear that he was in very real danger of drowning in it. Draco took his hand and squeezed it gently.

“What do you want Ron?” Harry asked, his free hand slipping into his pocket to grab hold of his wand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the pair.

“How about a recompense for utterly fucking up my life?” Ron snarled as he took a step forward. “Do you know that Hermione dumped me, and I'm not even allowed to take my N.E.W.T.s, thanks to you! Any potential job I want, I need to take the equivalents at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons if I want to be considered for any of the programs here! Do I _look_ like I know how to talk French or German?”

“I don't recall _forcing_ you to beat the crap out of me,” Harry growled, falling into a tone so similar to Draco's usual drawl that he saw the disgust upon Ron's face intensify. “You have no one to blame for your expulsion or Hermione dumping you but _you._ You were the one who was a complete and utter bigot. Not me, not Hermione, _you_.”

Ron's lip curled into a sneer, and Harry braced himself when he saw Ron's arm muscles tense, his fist clenching around his wand.

“You're disgusting, you know that? A deluded mental case who should be locked up, not permitted to wander about, spreading your disease!”

“My _disease_?” Harry sputtered, but he couldn't say anything further before Ron was off again.

“I was doing Gryffindor a _favour,_ getting rid of you. You may have taken down You Know Who, but you're still a freak. A sick, disgusting freak.” Ron brandished his wand, and Harry lifted his, but he was too slow to cast a protection charm as Ron's hex came flying at him, and he hissed as he fell to the ground, the curse slicing through his robes and leaving a shallow cut across his abdomen.

“Harry!” Draco rushed towards him, but Seamus used a tripping charm on him, and hurried forward to pin his arms at his back. Harry tried to sit up, but groaned as another slicing hex hit him before he could move very far, cutting a very neat X into his abdomen. In spite of the pain, Harry swallowed his cries, refusing to give Ron the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

“Watch, Malfoy,” Ron sneered as he stepped forward, flicking his wand again and again, reducing Harry's chest and abdomen to bloody ribbons. Harry soon lost the will to hide the pain, and it escaped him as shuddering gasps while he tried to deflect them, but in his shock and reluctance to actually _hurt_ Ron, his spells were far from effective. “You'll be thanking me for this later. I know you're a ruddy shirt-lifter like my brother, so I will _prove_ to you that you're dating a girl, not a boy.”

“Harry is a boy—a _man,_ ” Draco snarled at him angrily, his usual Malfoy dignity crumbling in an instant. “More of a man than you'll ever be, Weasley. Leave him alone!” Draco struggled against the hold, but Seamus didn't let up. Ron scoffed at Draco's defence of him, but something else was more concerning to Harry—how could Ron discuss it so openly, without the curse punishing him? The idea that the curse was losing its effectiveness was more terrifying than Ron bearing down on him, wand pointed at his chest.

“Harry is no _man_. _It_ is a gross he-she, who mutilated _its_ body to play make-believe! Watch!”

Harry had no chance to defend himself, his mind stuck in blind panic while he lifted his arms in an effort to try and protect himself. Ron brought down his wand in a great sweeping arc, and Harry screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for pain, while Draco screamed.

Instead of the pain Harry had been expecting, Harry felt a rush of cool wind brush across his skin. Harry's eyes flew open in alarm, certain that he was mistaken, and the sight he was presented with made him feel sick.

Harry scrambled to try and cover his naked body, opting to curl himself into a ball in an effort to hide himself from Ron, and in his panic, hand lost track of where his wand had gone. He was _sure_ it had been in his hand. Where was it? He looked around for it as much as he dared, while making sure to keep Ron in his line of sight. His position made his bleeding chest ache, but the physical pain was better than crumbling into an emotional meltdown from allowing the others to see his body.

Ron strode towards him with purpose, Harry could see Draco still straining against Seamus, and he watched his partner scream obscenities at Ron, though it washed over Harry like a dull roar, and he was unable to work out exactly what Draco was saying. His focus stayed on his former best friend, and as Harry opened his mouth to try and reason with him, he yelped as with another short flick of Ron's wand Harry was dragged to his feet and pinned spread-eagle against the cold glass window of the abandoned storefront at his back.

Harry strained against the hex that held him there, his dizzying agony caused by his gender dysphoria so intense that his vision seemed to bend, and his utter shame at the realization that Draco could see _all_ of him set in, making it difficult to tell whether it was more likely that he would faint or vomit first..

“Some _man_ ,” Ron sneered, and he grabbed at Harry roughly. Harry attempted to jerk away from the unwanted touch, but the hex held him fast, and tears sprung to the corners of his eyes before he could stop them and Ron laughed nastily. “Look at that Harry, you're _crying_. Come on, _take it like a man!_ ”

“Stop, Ron, please, stop it!” Harry's voice cracked in his desperation, but no matter how much he struggled, he could not move. Behind Ron, Harry could see tears streaking Draco's cheeks, and he too, had not stopped fighting his captor.

“I think I'll fuck you, Harry,” Ron said in such a calm, matter-of-fact tone that Harry felt the bile rise in his throat. “I'll need to _Scourgify_ my cock afterwards, but it'll prove to you that you're really a girl. A whiny, pathetic little _girl._ ”

“I never knew you had so much rage in you,” Harry replied, his voice shaking as he stared back at the ginger, struggling to keep calm through his near-blinding panic. If Ron's threats were any indication, it was but a taste of what was to come, and he needed to get a handle on his emotions if he had any chance of trying to think of a way out of this mess.

Harry's head snapped to the side and he saw stars, his glasses flying to the ground and shattering from the force of Ron's punch.

“You have _no one_ to blame for this but yourself, Harry,” He growled, “If you weren't so fucking deluded, you'd see that. But, I think I've talked enough. Let's get started...”

The implication behind his words made Harry feel sick, and he stared at his former friend, eyes wide as he heard the telltale zip of him undoing his trousers. He struggled harder, no longer caring that he was crying openly, no longer caring if he appeared weak, or helpless. Harry didn't care about anything but stopping what Ron was getting ready to do.

“Ron,” Harry pleaded between choked sobs, “No...no... _please don't do this..._ ”

Harry felt Ron's hot breath on his face, and then he felt nothing at all. A blinding white light enveloped his vision, and the whole world seemed to fall away.

 

~*~

 

Cold.

Harry was aware first that he was cold. Freezing, in fact, despite the fact that distantly he knew it was still summertime.

Something soft had been wrapped around him, and a pair of arms were holding him tightly. A warm hand brushed his cheek, and a warm wet raindrop dripped onto his cheek.

No, not a raindrop, Harry realized.

A tear.

Harry opened his eyes, and came to find that he could see. His glasses had been repaired, and a blanket had been tightly wound around him. Draco's anguished expression lit up as Harry focused on him.

“Draco?” Harry croaked, trying to sit up, but too late remembering his catalogue of injuries, and fell back with a pained gasp. “What happened?” Harry asked, but Draco's answer was to brush his cheek with a soft thumb, and press a kiss to his forehead.

“You're safe. Sirius is on his way, and we'll have Madam Pomfrey see to you.”

“But...what about Ron and Seamus?” Harry asked, “ _what happened_?”

“You don't need to worry about them any more.”

The non-answer was frustrating, and Harry opened his mouth to ask again, but was cut off by the sudden appearance of his godfather.

“Harry!” He cried, and Draco got out of the way to look at him. He pressed a hand to his forehead, and looked him over with wide, worried eyes, and then turned to Draco. “What happened? Where are his clothes?”

“I don't know,” Draco answered. “Weasley banished them and then he tried to...” Draco trailed off. “I don't know what happened. One moment I was trying to get away from Finnegan and to help Harry and the next...I felt like my head was going to explode, and suddenly Weasley and Finnegan were unconscious. They're over there.” Harry assumed that Draco had pointed, as from his position he could not see their attackers.

“I'm taking these two straight to the Aurors,” Sirius said in a low growl, completely ignoring Harry's feeble protests. “I want you to take Harry back to the flat, get him some clothes, and call Madam Pomfrey with the Floo, it'll be faster than by owl.”

“Shouldn't he go to St. Mungo's?”

“No,” Sirius said at once, much to Harry's relief. “Emergency rooms for people with Harry's condition can get complicated, I'll explain later. Just go. I will be there soon.”

Harry listened to the conversation, but despite his attempts to protest, especially to Sirius's intent to take Ron and Seamus to the Aurors, his mouth refused to work properly, and instead he felt Draco pull him close and drag him into Side-Along Apparition.

 

They reappeared at home, in the sitting room. Harry's knees buckled as Draco tried to help him stand, and wrapped an arm around his waist as he helped Harry to his room. He was shaking, and he was grateful for the blanket around him.

Draco eased him down onto the bed, but Harry remained sitting up as he watched Draco putter around in his wardrobe, and pulled out a T-shirt, pyjama bottoms, and socks for him. Harry looked on with a daze, the entire situation felt strangely surreal. Ron and Seamus attacking them, Draco taking _care_ of him...Harry shook his head minutely, but the information refused to sink in.

Draco dropped to his knees in front of Harry, and began to pull away the blanket. Harry's hands tensed around it, and Draco frowned.

“Harry,” he said softly, “please, let me help you.” Harry didn't answer, but looked away from the blond. How could Draco even _look_ at him after that? He hissed a curse as his eyes stung, and he clenched them shut as he tried to calm down.

A pair of lips caressed his own, so gently that it was barely counted as a genuine kiss. Draco's hand cupped his cheek, and his thumb brushed across his skin lightly.

“You are a man to me. No matter what your body looks like, you will always be male in my eyes,” Draco said in a soft but firm tone of voice. “Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ could change that.”

Harry finally looked up to him, and he found himself mildly startled by the firm, determined look in his eyes. Too tired to put up much of a fight, he loosed his hold on the blanket, and Draco pulled it down to pool at his hips while he helped him into the T-shirt, and after a moment's hesitation on Harry's part, he allowed Draco to help him with the bottom garment as well. His expression never changed, and he looked upon Harry as he always had. This did not stop Harry from feeling infantile and emasculated, but he could see Draco trying his best to not let Harry feel weak and helpless.

The T-shirt appeared to be a bad idea, as the hexes that had hit him was still bleeding, and it stained the light blue a deep red. Harry eased back onto his pillows, as covertly as he could draped an arm across his chest, and Draco leant in to kiss him once more.

“I'll be back in a moment,” he said softly, “I just need to call for Madam Pomfrey, all right?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded silently. Draco watched him for a moment longer, then swept from the room.

His bedroom was silent, and distantly Harry could hear the low murmur of Draco speaking, presumably talking to Pomfrey, and again he felt a wave of shame and misery wash over him. _How_ could he have let this happen? Harry turned his head to the side and buried his face in his pillow, his tears staining the fabric. He breathed deeply, but it did not help in ridding him of this fresh wave of anguish. Despite the dull ache that consumed his chest, Harry was still so tired from everything that had happened in such short a time, and before he knew what was happening, he fell asleep.

 

When Harry next woke, he was acutely aware of several things all at once.

The first was someone had removed his glasses.

The second was Draco, sitting in a chair next to his bed and bowed forward to rest his upper arms on the mattress, and his head was pillowed against them, one of his hands a hairsbreadth from Harry's, positioned in such a way that he was left feeling quite certain that he'd fallen asleep holding Harry's hand.

The final thing was the lack of pain in his chest and stomach, and he looked down and tugged up his shirt to see that the cuts had been mended, and nothing but a pearlescent scars remained.

 

Something must have alerted Draco to his waking as he stirred, and his eyes flicked open. Harry dropped the hem of his shirt and instinctively draped an arm across his chest to hide the distinct curve.

“Hey,” Draco said a little groggily as he woke, “how are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” Harry said, sitting up slowly. “Where's my...?” he trailed off, and Draco handed him the chest binder. He accepted it with a weak smile, and Draco turned around as Harry pulled off the T-shirt and pulled it on, then layered the shirt over it. He immediately felt ten times calmer. Draco turned back around and shifted from the chair to the bed, and cradled Harry's cheek while he leaned in to kiss him.

“What happened?” Harry asked when Draco pulled back and pressed his glasses into his hands. Harry pulled them on and reached for Draco's hands to keep him from going too far. “I mean, one second Ron was about to—then, I don't remember.”

Draco didn't answer straightaway, his gaze dropping to their linked hands. It was only then that Harry was able to have a good look at him. He did not look nearly as put-together as usual, his hair was slightly mussed and there were dark circles under his eyes. His skin had taken on a sallow tint, and though he had been sleeping when Harry woke, he still looked exhausted.

“It was...me, I think,” Draco said, his voice soft. “I saw what Weasley was about to do and I...I snapped. It was like a switch was flicked in my mind, and I screamed, and then I just...saw white. When my vision cleared Weasley and Finnegan were unconscious, and you were in a heap and still bleeding...I conjured a blanket for you and called Sirius.”

“You did accidental magic?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded, looking troubled. “You never have before, have you?”

“I've...heard about it, but even when I was young I was taught to channel my magic, I've never lost control before, not like that. It sort of, came out all at once, Madam Pomfrey gave me some potions for exhaustion, but...” Draco cut himself off with a shake, still looking troubled.

Harry didn't quite understand Draco's unnerved reaction to performing accidental magic for the first time, though he supposed it likely had something to do with the power behind it. In an effort to calm him down, or distract him, Harry wasn't fussed with which, he leant forward and kissed him.

“No matter what the cause or the...spark, you saved me,” Harry murmured softly, “thank you.”

Draco stretched out next to him, and Harry curled up into his embrace, pressing his cheek against Draco's firm chest.

“Why did Sirius not want you to go to St. Mungo's?” Draco asked, and Harry looked up at him, silent for a moment while he tried to gather his thoughts.

“Going into an emergency room—it doesn't matter if it's magical or muggle—when you're like me can be complex,” Harry began, frowning as he tried to work out how to best explain it. “There have been a handful of times I've needed to be rushed to an emergency room, and I've been refused treatment because the doctors or nurses claim that they have no idea how to treat someone like me. They won't even _touch_ at me, like I have spattergroit or something. I mean, it doesn't happen _every_ time, but enough that Sirius won't take me to a Healer unless I'm like...dying.”

“Every time I think I've heard the worst of this, You tell me something that makes me detest the human race all the more,” Draco murmured, tightening his hold on Harry slightly. “Maybe I should just hex the entirety of London, just to be safe.”

“Wouldn't it just be easier to hex the offending party instead?” Harry asked with a small smile, and Draco chuckled softly.

“Tell me what's happening with...Ron and Seamus,” Harry prompted, in an effort to steer the conversation back to more pressing matters. Despite his efforts to sound nonchalant, his voice dropped to a level just barely above a whisper. Draco's hand moved to caress Harry's hair, and Harry leant into the touch.

“Sirius is pressing charges on the grounds of magical and sexual assault, harassment, and hate crimes. There's enough evidence that we don't need to bring your status into it, unless you want to,” Draco said, his voice edged with anger. “They're in holding cells at Azkaban until their trials, and Sirius wanted to go over everything with you before he made a decision on what to do.”

“Hang on,” Harry said, sitting up a little, “at—I mean, when Ron and Seamus came after us, they were able to talk about it, my being trans, I mean. Did you talk about that with Sirius?”

“I did,” Draco said with a nod. “He said it was a magical loophole with the curse. Since everyone present knew about you, the curse did not see the need to tie their tongues.”

“Oh.” Harry eased back down, and stared past Draco as he went over what he'd been told. He'd like to adjust the curse, knowing that, but Harry worried that it would hinder Hermione or Draco's ability to discuss it with him. He didn't want that. Harry knew now that there were some times when it _was_ all right to acknowledge his transness, and to accept it, rather than pretend it didn't exist. He shifted closer to Draco, just as someone tapped on his door.

“Am I interrupting?” Sirius asked as he poked his head in, grinning at the pair. Harry felt himself flush, and he chuckled softly. “There's a young lady here who is quite beside herself, and threatening to hex me if she can't see with her own two eyes that you two are alive.”

“You mean Hermione, right?” Harry asked uncertainly, and Sirius chuckled, then nodded. “Okay, let her in.”

Sirius looked at them once more, then opened the door wider to show Hermione, her face tear-stained as she rushed in and dragged Harry into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hermione—” Harry choked, “Can't—breathe—”

“Oh, Harry, I'm sorry,” she released him quickly and sat at the end of the bed, while Sirius left them to it. “I was just _so_ worried, after I heard what happened. Oh, it's probably a good thing Ron's being held by the Aurors, because I would have hunted him down and killed him.”

Harry smiled weakly, though it shifted to genuine amusement when he turned and saw the look of bewilderment on Draco's face while he tried to work out whether or not she was joking. “Are you two okay though? Have you decided what you're going to do about the trial?”

“I'm all right,” Harry said, and paused when Draco nodded his agreement to her question, “the trial...honestly, I have no idea. I mean, I can't ignore Ron's antics anymore, but I don't know if I could face him again...”

“You don't have to,” Hermione said at once, “you're a trauma victim, they wouldn't force you to be there when they tried them. You can give your side of the story privately, and we provide evidence to back up that they've been at this for months, and then they'll be tried based on what we present. I've been reading about it, ever since Sirius handed them over to the Aurors.”

“Hermione, it's been like two days, have you even _slept_?” Harry asked, and she smiled, shrugging her shoulders vaguely.

Harry shook his head with a faint smile, unsurprised that like so many times in their youth, Hermione seemed to have absorbed everything that she could on the topic. Grateful that he was for it, it never ceased to amuse him.

With Draco's arms still around him, they fell into casual conversation, steering clear of the topic of what had happened, the impending trial, and everything else. For the moment, the allowed themselves to be teenagers, and Harry had never been more grateful for Hermione reigning her curiosity in.

  

~*~

  

The day Harry was to be questioned, he was quite certain he was going to puke on the questioner. His stomach was tied up in knots, and the only thing that kept him from bolting in the opposite direction was Draco's hand in his, and Sirius at his back. He caught a few people staring as he passed, and the hissing whisper that followed. He guessed it was in relation to him holding hands with Draco Malfoy but he couldn't care less what they thought. Harry had the feeling it was getting to Draco however, and he offered the slightly clammy in his hand a small squeeze, which Draco was quick to return.

They passed through the Atrium in silence and took the lift down to the Auror Offices. It was busy, with men and women in dusky blue robes sweeping past them with barely a second glance. They stopped before a nondescript wooden door with the words, _Auror S. Ambergris and Auror T. Newcastle(Trainee)_ upon it. Sirius lifted his fist to the door, and knocked twice.

The door swung open at once, revealing an older woman, her grey curls pulled back into a low ponytail, and though she looked to be in her sixties, her bright hazel eyes were still alight with youthful energy.

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, Mr Black,” she greeted with a soft smile, “so good of you to come. I'm Auror Sophie Ambergris, and I will be conducting the questioning pertaining to your case. If you would come in,” she stepped aside and let the three men in, closing the door firmly behind her, then flicked her wand at it, while she muttered under her breath.

Three chairs had been set up before one of the desks that occupied the office, and Harry sat upon the centre one, Draco and Sirius sitting on either side of him. He felt warm and safe, bracketed by his boyfriend and his godfather, despite the questioning he'd have to endure. Sirius gave his upper arm a reassuring squeeze as the Auror sat down, and Draco took his hand.

“All right Mr Potter, what do you say we start at the beginning?” Auror Ambergris prompted with a kind smile. She took out a scroll of parchment and an electric blue quill, which balanced perfectly upon the parchment, waiting for them to speak. Harry eyed it dubiously, and when he did not offer up any information willingly, she tried again. “What can you tell me about the first attack?”

“Um...” Harry felt his breath catch, and Draco gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Ron and Seamus discovered something personal about me, it's private,” he added quickly when it looked like she was going to ask him _what_. “And I don't think it's really important _what_ it is, just that, well, they didn't agree with it, so much so that they felt like they had to try pushing me out of Gryffindor. They attacked me in Hogsmeade over it, then after I went to the Matron to get myself cleaned up, they'd gone after my belongings and destroyed everything except for the stuff I'd hidden.”

“Did it not occur to you to contact the authorities? I'm sure you realize that that qualifies as a hate crime and harassment,” Ambergris interjected gently, and Harry looked from her to the quill, which was whizzing across the parchment, writing down every word they'd said so far.

“I went to the Headmistress,” Harry said, defensively, “she suggested it, so did practically everyone else, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Were you perhaps concerned that the blame for the attack would be laid upon _you_?”

“I—how did you know that?” Harry asked as he stared at her, and she smiled faintly.

“Victim-blaming, as I understand it, is rife throughout the muggle legal system, but it is not a practice we wizards engage in,” she said simply. “What happened after that?”

“Well, I went to the Headmistress, like I said, and she expelled them. After that not much happened for a while. I mean, Ron sent me a couple cursed letters, trying to force me to come clean about—about my secret, but my friend Hermione Granger had picked up on the fact that they were cursed, and I would just burn them instead of touching them or anything. Then when I went to Diagon Alley with Draco and some others, we were ambushed by them when we were alone.”

Harry paused, his voice momentarily failing as images of the attack surfaced into his mind. Draco's hand in his kept him from falling back into his memories, and he took a shuddering breath as he strove to continue.

“Seamus restrained Draco and Ron went after me. He cursed me a few times with slicing hexes, then he stripped me and pinned me to a wall and threatened to—to—” Harry choked, and his eyes stung.

“Weasley was prepared to assault him, and made a lot of crude remarks relating to his intentions,” Draco filled in, “I lost control of my magic, and stunned them both, I am uncertain how, or what I did. After that I tended to Harry as best I could and called Sirius.”

The quill tumbled down onto the parchment, and Auror Ambergris observed them with keen, searching eyes. Harry shifted his gaze to his lap.

“I can proceed with the information you have given me, sexual assault, even attempted sexual assault carries a heavy prison sentence. But it would help in keeping them behind bars longer if I were to know the motive behind the attacks upon your person,” the Auror said gently, but Harry couldn't fathom letting anyone else in.

Harry shook his head mutely.

“Harry,” Sirius said gently, “you can tell her. Whatever you say in here will not leave this room.”

“He is correct Mr Potter,” she added with a kind smile, “I would not betray your trust. Whatever it is, knowing it would only strengthen your case.”

Harry clenched his hands into fists, but didn't look up.

“Harry,” Draco murmured, “where is that vaunted Gryffindor courage of yours? The curse is still in place, and you know it is safe to tell her.”

Harry looked up at last, feeling less protected now by Draco and Sirius's presence, and cornered instead. He looked back to the woman, and he knew that they were all right, it was safe to tell her, but what if she reacted like Ron or Seamus had? At the thought of Ron and Seamus, receiving a shorter sentence because he was too afraid to be honest bolstered him however, and he pushed forward.

“Um, I'm a female-to-male transsexual,” Harry mumbled without looking up. “They didn't exactly agree with that.”

In the silence that followed, Harry chanced a careful glance up, and though she appeared surprised, there was amusement in her eyes. How on _earth_ could she find amusement in any of this?

“Oh my dear, you absolutely can trust that I will not even try to divulge your secret,” she said with a smile. She cast a quick look to Sirius and Draco, then refocused her attention upon Harry. “You see...I was born under a different name... _Stanley_ Ambergris.”

Harry's mouth dropped open.

“I trust that you will not divulge my biological history, and in turn I will not divulge yours,” she continued, smiling warmly at him. “We are everywhere, Mr Potter, and I understand very well your desire to be left in peace and to not be regarded like...a freak.” She winced at her word choice, but Harry nodded fervently. This person, this _adult_ grew up like he did. Harry didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the coincidence.

“Your attackers are being tried in seclusion as it is,” she continued, “there is absolutely no risk that any of this will hit the papers.”

“I—thank you,” Harry said, “looking back, I kind of wish I'd thought to do all this sooner.”

“You are now,” she replied with another smile, “and that is what counts, don't you agree?”

 

They spent another hour with Auror Ambergris, then she pressed a small piece of parchment into his hand, with a knowing look in her eye. Harry waited until he got home and was alone to read it.

 

_Always keep fighting, Harry._

_Send me an owl if you ever wish to talk with someone who's been right where you are._

_-Sophie_

 

Harry was glad that he was alone, and he let the tears flow.

 

~*~

 

In the weeks to come, Harry had no idea how he managed to get from one day to the next. Hermione had put off her trip until Ron and Seamus's trials were concluded, and when Harry wasn't glued at the hip to Draco, he was with her. He couldn't help the ever-present worry that somehow they would get off and come looking for payback.

“Harry, stop worrying,” she said gently but firmly as she dumped a styrofoam container of muggle takeaway in his lap and sat across from him on the carpet of his room. “You gave the Aurors more than enough to put them away for a _long_ time. There's no way they'll get off.”

“With that, you've probably just jinxed it,” Harry replied sourly as he popped open the container and pulled out the foil-wrapped gyro.

“I am not,” she said while she glared at him and opened her own container while she picked up a fork. “You have nothing to worry about.”

They ate in silence, Harry devouring the wrap a little too fast, and got tzatziki all down his front, which he spelled clean before Hermione could comment on it.

A soft tapping on his door interrupted the peaceful quiet, and Harry looked up as Sirius opened the door to look in on them.

“You two busy? A very pompous-looking owl just delivered a letter for you,” Sirius said, raising his eyebrows significantly. Harry's breath hitched, stood up too quickly, and his head spun. Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him, then they followed Sirius out to the sitting room, where Draco was already waiting. Harry guessed that Sirius had called him before knocking on his door.

Draco went to him immediately and kissed him hard, his fingers lacing with Harry's free hand, and Harry staggered back a little in surprise at the force of it. Hermione let him go and flushing a deep scarlet, he turned to Sirius, who was smiling at the pair warmly. Draco held onto him securely as Sirius handed over the small scroll, and Harry broke the seal while Hermione and Sirius crowded him to read over his shoulder.

 

_23 rd July, 1999_

_Wizengamot Trials #203354_

 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

 

_This letter is to inform you of the verdicts for the trials of Ronald Bilius Weasley and Seamus Finnegan._

_On the charges of physical assault, magical assault, harassment, verbal harassment, attempted cursing, and attempted sexual assault, Ronald Bilius Weasley is to serve twenty-seven years at Azkaban Prison, with possibility for parole after fifteen, unless you wish to contest it at that time._

_On the charges of physical assault, harassment, and aiding and abetting, Seamus Finnegan is to serve fifteen years at Azkaban Prison, with possibility for parole after eight. Once more, you may contest it when the time comes if you so wish._

 

_Regards,_

 

_Percy Weasley_

_Junior Minister for Magic, sixth seat at the Wizengamot_

 

The following cheers were so loud that they barely heard the thumping sound of a broom on Mrs Downstairs's ceiling over it. Harry threw himself at Draco in a bone crushing hug, and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Hermione threw herself over the two, and Sirius completed the group hug. All thought of dignity forgotten, Draco accepted it, tears of joy streaking his cheeks as he drew Harry in for a kiss.

“This calls for a celebration!” Sirius cried as he let them go. Harry broke the kiss to look up at his godfather, who was brandishing his wand, and with a few flicks the flat was adorned with streamers and shining baubles, and a spread of food winked into existence upon the dining room table, complete with more than enough malt beverage to keep them going for a while.

Though Harry had just eaten, he had no objections to more food in light of the good news, and they loaded their plates, filled their glasses, and Harry stood at the head of the table, glass high as he looked over all the people who meant the most to him in the world.

“To the quiet life,” Harry said, “ _finally_.” 


	9. Epilogue

Epilogue

 

**Five Years Later**

 

Harry had yet to grow used to the sensation of waking up next to someone. Even after three years, the sight of Draco in bed next to him, fair locks fanning his cheek, his breathing soft and even as he slept on, it was a beautiful sight to behold.

He slipped from the gentle embrace and stretched, his spine popping as he did so. Scratched absently at his flat chest, Harry plucked his dressing gown off its hook and pulled it on, then slipped quietly into the hall.

As he walked, he paused outside the door adjacent to his and peered inside, smiling at the sight of little Teddy, fast asleep and clutching tightly to the stuffed wolf Draco had given him for his last birthday. Harry smiled at the memory, remembering how at the time Teddy was quite perplexed as to why his godfather found his present so funny.

His hair flickered between orange and violet, never staying one shade for long in slumber, and Harry felt a slight pull at his heart. Andromeda had been dead for two years, and Harry still felt guilty that he hadn't been there to stop it or save her. No one could have predicted that she'd be hit by a drunk muggle driver, and in all the confusion she'd been taken to a muggle hospital by accident, and they could not save her.

Harry wasn't certain whether Teddy fully understood what had happened—it had been so sudden, and he had been so young—but in the last year he'd stopped asking Harry when they'd visit his Gran next. Though it was good that he'd stopped asking, it still worried Harry. Like Remus and Tonks, Harry did not want Teddy to forget Andromeda, and grow up not knowing of her.

He shut the door soundlessly and padded down to the main level of their duplex and made a beeline for the kitchen. As he got the water going for coffee and heated up the pans on the cooker, he thought back over the last five years of his life, marvelling not in the adventure of it, but of the _normalcy._ Never in his life had things gone so smoothly, or so well. No matter how much time had passed, it still amazed him.

From Hermione taking off on her globetrotting adventures to come back with her parents, memories restored, happy, and healthy with a new (famous) boyfriend it tow; to his N.E.W.T.s coming back with full marks and enabling him to pursue a career with the Aurors; to his and Draco's intimate relationship progressing further than Harry ever could have imagined. He shifted, there was a distinctive, pleasant soreness in his bottom, and not for the first time he wished he could have gotten to this point sooner; he felt like he'd missed out on so much.

Teddy was the first to toddle down to the main level, and draw Harry out of his memories, rubbing his eyes and dragging the toy wolf behind him.

“Morning sleepy head,” Harry said with a grin. He smiled up at Harry, and pulled himself into his 'big boy' chair at the kitchen table. He didn't speak yet, but watched bemusedly as Harry prepared their Saturday tradition of big, fluffy, American-style pancakes. He set down Teddy's sippy cup full of pumpkin juice in front of him, and he sipped on it, his expression perking up as he drank.

“Uncle Harry, can I have the larmalade on my pancakes?” Teddy asked, watching Harry cook raptly, as though he was practising some sort of miracle in front of his very eyes.

“Magic word?” Harry prompted with a faint smile.

“Can I _please_ have larmalade on my pancakes?”

“Yes you may,” Harry said, and flicked his wand to transfer the marmalade to the table. He smiled widely and fell silent, watching Harry work intently.

 

After Harry pulled the bacon from the pan to drain, he exchanged a smile with his godson, and said the words he knew Teddy was waiting to hear.

“Go let Draco know that it's breakfast time.”

Teddy was up and out of the kitchen in a flash, leaving the wolf behind. Harry listened as the little boy thundered up the stairs with the force of a rhinoceros stampede, and it was closely followed by Draco's audible grunt as Teddy literally threw himself onto his cousin, then jumped exuberantly on the bed while he cried, “ _It's pancake time, Draco! You have to get up!_ ” Harry could hear the creaking of the bed as Teddy jumped on it, and snickered as he transferred everything to the table. One would think that after over a year of this tradition Draco would have the good sense to wake himself up _before_ Teddy did it for him, but part of Harry always wondered if he secretly enjoyed it.

Harry heard a distinct, delighted squeal from Teddy, and a moment later Draco had sauntered downstairs, a silk dressing gown over his pyjamas, and carrying the giggling child by his ankles.

“Harry, do you recognize this little monster from our Care of Magical Creatures lessons?” He asked, still holding the little boy by his ankles as he squirmed in the hold, but couldn't get free.

“Ah yes,” Harry replied with a laugh, “the fearsome Teddy monster. You know, I've heard that they love to wake up cranky Slytherins on pancake day.”

“Rar!” said Teddy, bending himself in half as he tried to reach Draco's hands that were holding him up, but failed miserably and fell back with another giggle.

“Ah yes, the fearsome Teddy monster...” he mused, “well what is the best method for taming this loathsome creature?”

“Pancakes! Pancakes!” Teddy cried at once, and with an amused chuckle Draco finally set him down and he ran back to his seat.

Draco swept in and rested a hand against the back of Harry's neck as he kissed him, one which Harry was all too happy to return. They both ignored Teddy's audible, “ewwww!”

Draco and Harry sat down on opposite sides of the little table, and Draco helped Teddy cut his pancakes into bite-sized pieces, while Harry watched them with a smile over the rim of his coffee cup.

Of all the things he'd learnt about Draco in sharing both his bed and his life with him, the most surprising had to be his innate parenting skills. Harry loved watching the pair of them together, and while Draco had voiced an interest in having one of their own someday, he seemed to understand that while Harry was not wholly opposed to the idea, he wasn't quite _there_ yet. For now, Teddy was more than enough.

“What do you think about going to the park later today?” Harry asked, and Draco looked up from his own coffee, both (for the moment) ignoring the bright-eyed, excited expression that had crossed Teddy's face. “I thought I'd talk to Bill about meeting us there with Victoire and Dominique.”

“I don't like Victoire, she doesn't play right,” Teddy said sulkily, crossing his arms. “She always chases me.”

“That just means she _likes_ you!” Harry said with a grin, and the little boy balked.

“No way, Uncle Harry! That's _gross_!”

Teddy was very confused as to why his two guardians had suddenly burst out laughing.

  

~*~

  

In the end, they managed to talk Teddy into playing nicely with the Weasley girls, and as with every other time he'd associated with the family following The Trial, he was reminded how lucky he was that the Weasleys were decent and level-headed people.

 

“ _What our son did to you was reprehensible,” Arthur had told him firmly over tea several weeks following his son's imprisonment. “We all still care for you, Harry, like one of our own. No matter what, we do not think any less of you because of what happened. As much as it pains me to say it, my son deserved what he got, and has a good stretch of time to consider the gravity of his actions.”_

 

The words both pained and warmed Harry, as he felt guilty for being the one to send one of their children to Azkaban, but at the same time, he was grateful that that had not forced him to cut ties with the others. In spite of everything, he still cared for them.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the little hand in his. The other held onto Draco, and Harry bit back a laugh at the tutting muggle mothers that passed them, staring disapprovingly at Teddy's head of violet hair.

They stopped at the edge of the park, and he heard the cries of the two girls, already there with their father, and Teddy made a mad dash for the playground to join them.

Draco stepped behind him, perched his chin upon Harry's shoulder, and wrapped his arms around him in a loving embrace while the looked on and watched the kids play, taking a moment for themselves before they went to join Bill.

“When you think back to what you thought your life would be like,” Draco murmured, “did you ever think it would be anything like this?”

“No,” Harry answered at once, leaning back into the embrace, “It's better.”

 

-Fin

 

 

* * *

 

**Black Me Out F.A.Q.**

 

I've been getting a couple questions in the comments about various things in and around this story, so I thought that it might be easier for you guys to add this to the end of the fic. As more questions are posed, I'll add them here!

 

**If Harry was on blockers, how come he had breasts?**

In chapter two, Because of the Shame, I reference Harry being on blockers until he was twelve. I was a little ambiguous on when he started taking the blockers, which is where I think some of the confusion stems from. However, some kids develop breast tissue _very_ early (like seven early) and since I was doing this fic from a wizarding standpoint I didn't take the real-life drugs that are utilized for this purpose into account very much. I felt that having him start blockers _too_ early might not be safe for a child, meanwhile he was put on blockers early enough that he didn't actually gain that much breast tissue.

This story was from Harry's point of view, so how he viewed his body and how an outside observer might see it are two very different things. Even if Harry has barely any breast tissue at all, to him it _feels_ like he does. (See: Chapter 7, Piss and Vinegar, where I reference Harry's surprise at how similar his own chest structure is to Draco's.)

I know this point could have been made clearer, and I do intend to come back to this story and do another edit for it, but at the moment I haven't got the time.

 

**If Mpreg is possible in this AU, how come Draco's parents disowned him for being gay?**

The Malfoys would be traditionalists, and would balk at having a potions-induced pregnancy like this. The initial reason I didn't mention that Mpreg was possible when Draco was on his first date with Harry was because that was well before the subject really came up, it wasn't until Sirius really discussed it with him that Harry learned about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All chapter titles and fic title taken from Against Me! songs, because Laura Jane Grace is my idol and I adore her.
> 
>  
> 
> This was a really therapeutic story for me to write, both as something of a soapbox to address Trans* issues (though in particular issues Trans Men face) and as a means to answer some of the more personal questions I know certain cisgender (as in, people who do not identify on the Trans* spectrum) people want to ask, but know better than to actually ask, as some of those questions can be quite invasive. 
> 
> To reiterate from what I said in the first chapter of this fic, this story was based on my experiences in being trans, and my viewpoints concerning it. If you posed the same questions to another trans person, you may get very different answers. I hope that this story has served its purpose, both as a means of education and a window into a world of issues that you (the reader) may not have access to in your day-to-day lives. Many of the trans-specific issues faced in this fic are very real occurrences, and do happen to trans people everywhere. In light of the recent political upheaval in the UK and US in particular, I think now more than ever a story like this is incredibly relevant, and I hope I've done my bit to remind those of you not on the trans or queer spectrum that we are not simply a number, or a statistic, but real people, who face real danger every day simply by daring to be who we are.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this and until next time,
> 
> xox  
> James


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